The Devil's Blackest Sins
by Mya Scarlet
Summary: Revenge of the Sith meets Othello. Sith Obi-Wan as Iago. Obi-Wan/Dormé, Anakin/Padmé. Rated M for sexual situations and violence.
1. Prologue

An icy wind blasted through the darkened streets of Coruscant's Grungeon Block. Befitting its location, here only the lowliest creatures resided. Of those with the misfortune to be outside on this moonless night, the majority took no notice of the hooded figure striding swiftly past the decaying buildings. In the Block it was safer to scuttle directly to your dwelling through filthy puddles than raise your head and risk a confrontation. Only the district's hookers deliberately sought the stranger's attention. By a doorway two young females of indeterminate species called out to the man whose boots briefly reflected the flicker of the neon sign above their heads. But the stranger walked on.

Raising a black-gloved hand to his shadowed face, the man fought back the urge to retch. At a distance unthinkable for an ordinary human he could smell the prostitutes' fear, sweet and rancid in his nostrils. They risked death to feed their addictions, and their desperation tasted bitter, like bile. Swallowing the unpleasant sensations the man strode on, ignoring the familiar tension coiling in his stomach.

If he didn't have pressing business to attend to, he would have toyed with the idea of turning back, of taking what they offered before ridding them of their miserable lives. It would not be the first time he'd taken pleasure in cleansing Coruscant of that kind of filth. _But not tonight_, he mused. Tonight he had an infinitely more satisfying prize in mind.

Smooth white skin, trusting brown eyes, the scent of Noobian lilies. The trophy he deserved for all these years of patience, of putting up with fools, old men part of an Order dead on its feet, past its time. Oh, and patient he had been, weaving his web of deceit with intricate detail, playing his part with caution and control. But now he sensed the moment was near. Around him the Force creaked and groaned, like an ancient ocean ship about to break apart at sea. Finally, everything was in place. The rest of his plan was a matter of mere detail.

Tonight, he would set a fool on task, on a course that may as well be suicide. There was a simple satisfaction to be gained by the twisting of a feeble mind, a pleasure in persuasion that could be performed, unaided, with words alone. Especially when the persuasion would lead to the idiot's own doom.

Realising he had been caught up in his thoughts, the man paused to take in his surroundings. The journey had indeed gone more quickly than he expected and his destination lay just across the street. A soft scuttle sounded at his feet as a rodent beetle paused to sniff his boot. Raising a foot he squashed it quickly under his heel, took one last glance around him and ducked through the rusting doorway.

Behind a scratched plexiglass screen, a fat Besalisk female watched a holovid terminal with glazed yellow eyes, her open mouth dripping stringy drool onto a stained grey jacket that at some point must have been part of a uniform.

"Yes?" The clerk didn't look up as she spoke.

"Room for two hours please. My guest will arrive shortly." The man's vocalisation was low, but his accent was distinctly cultured Coruscanti. The Besalick leaned closer to the terminal, too absorbed in the Ojom soap opera to notice that the customer's voice belonged many levels above.

"Twenty credits per hour tonight. Name?"

If the clerk had been paying attention, and if the man's face hadn't been shadowed by the black hood of his robe, then she might have seen a green flash of excitement in grey-blue eyes. There was a certain thrill in not bothering with a pseudonym when visiting places as vile as these.

With a dark gloved hand the man slid a credit chip through the slot in the screen and bent to lower a bearded face closer to the audio transmitter.

"Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi."


	2. Chapter 1

"I must inform you, Master Kenobi, that I'm vexed you knew of this. Terribly, terribly vexed." Wil Roden, Noble and Honoured Ambassador to Coruscant from the Brentaliaan system, sat down heavily on the small bed in the tiny, hotel dirty room, then realising its state, and, its intended purpose, stood up abruptly to wring his hands and pace the room again. "And I don't think this _point de réunion_ - " he waved a hand to indicate the room - "is very funny, if it is your idea of some kind of _joke_."

His cloaked companion leant casually with his back against the wall, motionless save for steel-blue eyes, which followed the nervous movements of the Brentaliaan with mild amusement.

"Ambassador, please, calm down, you know this was as much of a surprise to me as is was to you."

The intonation was unenthusiastic, but Roden was too agitated to notice.

"You told me he was a danger to the Republic!" He ran one hand through his short, dark hair, and rubbed his forehead. He had a migraine coming on. Being around Obi-Wan was always so… _confusing_.

"In confidence, I fear that to be true." Obi-Wan sighed. "Ambassador, I know Anakin better than anyone. As a Jedi, he is unstable, yet he wields considerable power. If distracted by this marriage… " he paused, and sighed before continuing, "you must appreciate there are implications for the very state of democracy itself."

Roden stilled his movements and stared out of the grimy window. This was even worse than he had thought. First Padmé, the object of his undying affection, and many, many hours of determined courtship, marrying ridiculously below her station, but the idea that her husband could then threaten his chances of political success… It was almost too much to bear.

"What you are saying Master Kenobi, is everything I've worked for, everything I, rightfully deserve, will be ruined by this marriage?" He felt his lower lip begin to tremble.

"Not necessarily."

Roden jumped, suddenly feeling a firm hand grasp his shoulder. He hated it when Obi-Wan did that. It was bad enough that his nerves were shot to pieces from the perilous journey to this wretched place, without being further distressed by Obi-Wan creeping up on him. He turned slowly to face the Jedi.

Obi-Wan's gaze was piercing. His hand squeezed Roden's shoulder lightly.

"Sincerely, for Anakin and the Republic's sake, I hope and pray it will not. That is why I am relying on your help. It is a time of war, of political corruption. The Force is clouded, the Jedi's powers weakened." Obi-Wan paused, eyes locking on his before continuing quietly. "Wil, _you_ are one of only a few whom I can trust."

The Jedi's words brought a sudden rush of pride and optimism. Perhaps this could all be resolved in his favour. Obi-Wan would be able to work out how.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked simply.

"Go to her uncle's house. Raise him from his bed."

"The Supreme Chancellor? But it is the _middle of the night!_"

"And you would have her married for a single hour longer so you could _sleep_?" The Jedi's voice had grown harsher, but Roden was still struggling to follow the logic.

He blinked, trying to get rid of the fuzzy dots floating in his vision. The stale human smell in the room was starting to make him feel sick. What he needed right now, was a long, hot bath…

"Ambassador!" Obi-Wan's face swam back into view.

"Sorry," Roden said wearily, "go on. I will go to the Chancellor's house, and then?"

"Never mind, I shall go myself." Obi-Wan turned abruptly and started walking towards the door. "Palpatine is bound to be grateful to learn of this whilst there is something that could be done to stop it."

"No, wait!" Roden trotted after him. "What do you mean, _something that could be done to stop it_?"

Obi-Wan paused. The smile that flickered across his face was unseen by his companion, who waited anxiously behind. The Jedi turned around slowly.

"According to Coruscant law, a marriage may be annulled if it is not secure."

Roden looked at him blankly. "_Secure_?"

"Secure. _Consummated._" Obi-Wan's irritation was becoming apparent."Excuse my directness, Ambassador, but is it necessary to spell it out?"

"Well, I, err…"

"Right now," Obi-Wan interrupted, with a sweep of his hand, "_your_ precious Padmé may be enjoying the lusty attentions of her slave-boy from Tatooine."

The Jedi spoke softly as he drew closer to Roden. "The Hutts are known for instructing all their slaves in the vilest, most animalistic acts. In fact, even once freed, most former slaves are incapable of normal sexual relationships."

Obi-Wan's face was only inches away. The two men were nearly the same height, and the Jedi's breath was warm on his lips. Roden shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of horrible images.

"However," continued Obi-Wan with a small smile, placing a hand on each of Roden's shoulders, "Anakin could not ignore a summons by the Council, especially at the request of the Supreme Chancellor."

Roden's eyes snapped open. Finally, he understood. "Then I must go immediately." He shrugged away Obi-Wan's hands, frantically pulling on his cloak with trembling fingers. "We may already be too late!"

The Jedi stood aside as Roden rushed towards the door.

"Travel with great caution, Ambassador, the city is not safe. Trust no-one!" Obi-Wan called after him.

Roden merely raised his hand in acknowledgement as he hurried down the corridor.

The sound of expensive boots falling on cheap durasteel faded steadily to silence.

Obi-Wan pulled up the hood of his own robe and strolled to the window, one hand absent-mindedly stroking his beard as he spoke only to the empty darkness beyond.

"For villains and murderers abound… "


	3. Chapter 2

At night, the view from the southeast tower of the Jedi Temple was breathtaking. The lights of Coruscant's Galactic City stretched to the horizon like a glittering star field, the shapes of the multitude of buildings that served the needs of over a billion inhabitants reduced to an abstract carpet of luminescence. As one ascended in the silent, steady glide of the tower's external turbo-lift there was very little sense of connection to the planet. It was almost as if the elevator led right up to cold blackness of space itself. Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had admired the view from this position over a thousand times before, and he had never failed to dwell on its beauty.

Never, that is, until tonight.

Tonight his gaze was focused on one small part of the giant panorama before him. Just one tiny set of lights, almost indiscernible against the backdrop of millions, unless one knew exactly where to look.

500 Republica, the most exclusive address of Coruscant, was located on a bearing of precisely one hundred and seventy-two degrees from North. The building was home to numerous senators, ambassadors and diplomats, among them Padmé Amidala Naberrie, senator for Naboo, former queen of her planet, and since approximately eleven standard hours this morning, Anakin Skywalker's wife.

The furrow on Anakin's brow deepened as he attempted to narrow his focus in the correct direction. Even at this distance, he could feel Padmé's Force signature. She was still awake. He could visualise her by the window in her bedroom, soft brown gaze directed towards the Jedi temple, a tangle of chestnut curls falling about her shoulders as she waited anxiously for him to return. Perhaps she is wondering if I will retur, Anakin thought, unconsciously clenched and unclenched the metal fingers of his robotic hand.

The tiny mechanical sound of gyros interrupted the silence in the small capsule. "Relax Anakin. Take a deep breath." Obi-Wan Kenobi's voice was quiet and soothing. The older Jedi did not need to reach into the Force to determine Anakin's state of mind. Every detail of his former Padawan's body language betrayed his unease.

"They must know. Why else would they summon me at this time of night?" Anakin's gaze remained fixed on, and through, the transparisteel in front of them.

"There are other possible explanations." Obi-Wan replied calmly. "Our forces are closing in on the Separatists. General Grievous may already have been located."

"But the message was specifically addressed to me."

"Anakin, you underestimate the esteem with which you are held by the Council. Remember, _you_ are the hero of the hour. I would not be surprised if they want you to lead the attack against Grievous."

The compliment was delivered in Obi-Wan's usual matter-of-fact tone. Anakin would have smiled if he had not been so worried.

For the past seven months, Anakin Skywalker's thoughts had been filled with nothing but Padmé. Every night, no matter which Force-foresaken sector of the Galaxy the war had taken him, he had lain awake remembering every detail of why he loved her. Even when he did manage to sleep, his dreams were haunted by her melodious laugh, the sparkle in her eyes when she teased him, and the softness of her skin when he held her hand.

Eventually, during one particularly long, freezing night on Cato Neimoidia, Anakin had promised himself that this would be the very last time he and Padmé would be separated. Despite the Jedi Order's stringent rules on attachment, and the Naboo tradition of arranging husbands for their royal women according to political alliances, he resolved that upon his next return to Coruscant, the two of them would be married.

There was no question of keeping the union secret from Obi-Wan; Anakin's mentor and closest friend already knew of his relationship with Padmé. Although Anakin had tried his best to keep the depth of his attachment to the senator private, the joy of being in love filled his heart to bursting point and it was inevitable that his close battlefield companion would find out. He trusted the older Jedi with his life and if Obi-Wan had advised him against the marriage Anakin certainly would have taken his opinion very seriously.

But Obi-Wan's reaction to the news had surprised him. It was almost is if he had failed to react at all. The only comment Anakin had managed to draw out of his former Master was a repetition of what Anakin already knew: That for Jedi attachment was discouraged, and marriage was only allowed under certain circumstances, with the strict prior agreement of the Council. Obi-Wan had said he could not pre-empt their decision – although he was a member, he insisted only the Council as a body could judge whether a Jedi was capable of entering into such a formalised attachment whilst adhering to the Code.

But Anakin knew exactly what the Council would say. For thirteen years he had been a Jedi, and for thirteen years he had remained an outsider. He had always been considered a rogue element, accepted on a dead Jedi Master's interpretation of a prophecy that a minority of the Council did not even believe to be true. Even now, he felt as if his every move was treated with suspicion, and as if he had to be twice as good as any other to be considered equal. Yes, they acknowledged both his skills with a light saber– surpassing those of most of the Council members themselves – and his incredible achievements on the battlefield, but still they did not _trust_ him. Would the Council grant him an honour only a handful in the Order had ever been awarded? Anakin knew that they would not.

And so he and Padmé married secretly. What choice did they have? They knew her family too would never have agreed to the marriage. It was a quiet ceremony. Anakin had been a little hurt when Obi-Wan had declined to attend, but on reflection it was perfectly understandable. Anakin risked everything by marrying, but his friend had a lot more to lose: He was a General, and a member of the Jedi Council. Anakin knew it was too much to ask him to jeopardise his own position by publicly condoning Anakin's actions. Also, although he knew Obi-Wan had complete faith in him, he also knew his former Master did not approve of rule-breaking, or of dishonesty. Ironically, the rest of the Council would probably fall over themselves to offer Obi-Wan the possibility of marriage, if he were to request it.

"Anakin we're here. … Anakin!" The young Jedi's thoughts were interrupted by Obi-Wan's hushed but insistent voice. A glance to his left revealed the open door of the turbo-lift and the dim, cool corridor beyond. At the end of the passageway was the Grand Council Chamber, the location where, once again, his fate would be decided.

Within a moment of stepping inside the vaulted room, Anakin's worst fears were confirmed. Sitting directly opposite the entrance, between Master Mace Windu and the holo-projected image of Master Yoda, was the expensively clothed form of the Senate's leader and Padmé's uncle, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

The aging Naboo policitian quickly rose to his feet as the two Jedi entered. "Foul thief!" Palpatine's reedy voice echoed round the Council Chamber. "Villain!" His hand rested on the handle of a walking stick, the end of which was now pointed at Anakin. As Obi-Wan calmly took his seat to the right of Master Windu, Anakin made his way to the centre of the floor, and tilting his chin slightly, met Palpatine's venomous stare with a confident gaze. Anakin had faced, and defeated, some of the deadliest criminals, the most skilled warriors and the most threatening opponents in the entire galaxy. Chancellor Palpatine, on the other hand, was quite simply, a bully. Anakin Skywalker, the famed _Hero With No Fear_, was not about to be intimidated by this man, however much political power he held.

"Fools! Is his guilt not obvious to you all?" Palpatine's question was emphasised by the dramatic sweep of a thin arm. "Can you not see what he must have done?" The politician did not leave time for anyone to answer. "Padmé Amidala, Queen of Naboo," he continued, beginning to walk towards Anakin, "who has refused to marry some of the most _honourable, noble_, and _prosperous_ men in the galaxy, _suddenly_ decides to betray her family, her planet, and risk her own future to run off with a _nobody_, a _slave_, a _soldier_? " Palpatine spat out each word, peering up at the young Jedi with an expression of utter disdain. "Trickery! Witchcraft! To use your abilities in such a way. Disgraceful! The whole reputation of the Jedi Order is in question because of this!"

"Supreme Chancellor, please sit down…" Mace Windu finally interjected.

But Palpatine had not finished. "I demand he be expelled from the Jedi Order and arrested immediately. This ridiculous union must be undone before any knowledge of it becomes public and our family name is disgraced." The politician stood glowering as the assembled Council members, his chest rising rapidly as he gathered his breath.

"Take a _seat_, Supreme Chancellor," said Mace decisively, indicating the place with his hand. "And may I remind you, _with respect_, that in this chamber, you have no jurisdiction. The _Council_ will decide what action is to be taken, based on the _facts_."

Mace's voice was quiet but unquestionably commanding. With a small bow of concession and a final sneering glance towards Anakin, Palpatine returned reluctantly to his seat.

Silence fell on the Council Chamber. The eyes and minds of the seven Council members present were focused on the young Jedi who stood before them. Although his exterior appearance was that of calm concentration, tendrils of the Force flowed from within him betraying a tangle of outrage, guilt and frustration.

"What say you Jedi Skywalker?" The lilting voice of Master Yoda filled the Chamber. "Some truth in these accusations, I sense there to be."

Anakin took in a deep breath. Now was not the time for emotion - he could not afford to be angry. Drawing all his aggression inward, he exhaled and he let it drift out and flow away gently into the Force. With a quick glance to Obi-Wan, who responded with a small smile of encouragement, Anakin began to speak.

"Masters. It is true that Senator Amidala and I are married." A sharp intake of breath could be heard amongst the assembled Jedi. "But it is certainly _not true_," Anakin continued with a long glance towards Palpatine, "that I exerted any kind of inappropriate influence over her. Contrary to the Naboo tradition, we were both _equally willing_ participants in the marriage."

"_Lies, all lies.._." Muttered Palpatine angrily.

"The truth he speaks," said Yoda. "But a grave mistake you have made, young Skywalker. Marriage, for all Jedi is not. "

"Only in exceptional circumstances does the Council approve marriage," continued Mace Windu, "only when a Jedi is judged to be strong enough to uphold his duty to the Order, to put the service of others before himself, and before his own family." The Korunian fixed Anakin with his penetrating stare, placing the tips of his fingers together. "To take it upon yourself to make this judgement is not only arrogant, it is also foolish."

"Dangerous for many, attachment is," Yoda continued. "Attachment leads to jealousy, jealousy leads to anger, anger leads to hate. Hate is the path to the dark side."

Anakin's jaw clenched. So it was just as he expected. They would never have agreed to his marriage if he _had_ asked. He could not help feel a twinge of disappointment in his heart, even though he could have predicted their words to the letter.

There had been a time, a couple of years ago, when Anakin would have tried to argue with them. _Kit Fisto_, he would have said, _Ki-Adi-Mundi_. _What makes them superior to me? Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, with the potential to become the most powerful Jedi in the entire galaxy. Why should you forbid me happiness?_ _I have given my body and soul in service of the Order. Who are you to take my heart?_

But after years of war, Anakin had become jaded. There was simply no point in protesting, as much as he wanted them to see that they were wrong. _He_ was the problem, and there was nothing he could do to change their minds. So he simply stood his ground, head held defiantly, and remained silent.

"So I can inform my staff to arrange the annulment?"

Anakin had almost forgotten about Palpatine's presence. His neck prickled in irritation.

"No." Anakin's quiet reply caught the politician by surprise.

"What? The Council will decide your fate," said Palpatine dismissively.

"No," repeated Anakin, more loudly this time. "They will not." Council members shifted in their seats. Anakin glanced towards Obi-Wan. He looked back solemnly. "Under the law of my home planet," Anakin continued, "the Council have no power of annulment, _if_ I leave the Jedi Order."

This time the Chamber was filled with audible gasps.

"Anakin, this is not a decision to be taken in haste," Obi-Wan responded quickly.

"Dramatic, this statement is," said Master Yoda, "discuss the matter we must."

Currents of vibrant energy swirled through the Force as a rapid debate took place silently between the Council members. Anakin caught only transient flickers of energy – he could discern no words, only their emotional context. The argument was intense, but its content was deliberately obscured from him.

_Need, him we do._

_But he is unstable, dangerous!_

_Master Yoda is right. Many before have tried and failed, Skywalker may be our only chance of success._

_I fear he is not ready._

_No Master Kenobi, he is our only hope. For Grievous, we must send him._

Watching the assembled Jedi Masters' serene expressions in silence, Palpatine had reached exasperation. "I refuse to participate in this ridiculous charade a moment longer," he finally exclaimed, standing up. "I will prepare the papers for your signatures in the morning." He turned to go.

"Chancellor Palpatine, wait," said Mace Windu, fixing his gaze on Anakin. "The Council grants Jedi Skywalker permission to be married. No annulment will be issued."

Palpatine drew himself up to his full height. His expression was thunderous. "This is outrageous!"

"The decision is final, Supreme Chancellor."

"Your _decision_ will be taken as an insult to my planet and my people, and, I assure you Masters, as a personal insult to myself. This will not be forgotten." Palpatine scanned the faces before him. There was not a glimmer of fear or uncertainty amongst them.

Shooting a final look of disgust towards Anakin, Palpatine swept from the room.

Anakin was still in shock. Gradually, the reality began to dawn on him. Could it be true that he would keep his place in the Order, and keep Padmé? He could do little stop a wide grin from spreading across his face.

"Do not think, Jedi Skywalker, that you can manipulate the Council," Mace's solemn tone filled the Chamber. "This agreement is temporary, and will be revised once the Separatists are defeated and the war is over. Now is not the time for celebration. There are important battles to be fought."

Anakin heard the words but his heart was still soaring. "Yes Master," he mumbled quickly, bowing his head to hide his expression. His beautiful Padmé would keep her heroic knight. Even though she had protested she would love him no matter what he did, he knew she would be overjoyed at the news.

"An important mission, the Council has for you." Yoda's serious tone interrupted his elation.

"This afternoon General Grievous was located on the Utapau system." Mace Windu continued. "Jedi Skywalker, you will set off for the Outer Rim as soon as preparations are complete. A small clone trouper platoon will support you. Once Grievous has been defeated the remaining Separatist forces are expected to flee. General Kenobi will take a clone battalion to neighbouring Tarrabba Prime as a base for the interception operation and you will meet him there."

"But wha-," Anakin's mind was still trying to catch up. Did they really want him to tackle Grievous on his own?

"Covert, the operation must be," Yoda had sensed his uncertainty.

"Your abilities are needed now," continued Mace Windu, "this is your chance, Anakin, to prove the prophecy true."

"But Padmé…" Anakin's thoughts still dwelt on his wife. The Jedi Masters, however, mistook his confusion for something else.

"With Master Kenobi, she can travel, to Tarrabba. Safe it will be for her there," Yoda interrupted.

"Commander Cody will brief you on intel," Mace continued. "There is much to do and the hour is late. I suggest we end the session." There were nods and murmurs of agreement around the room.

Anakin felt as if he was operating on auto-pilot. Everything was moving too fast. All he wanted to do was to return to Padmé and tell her the news, but now his mind was filled with the prospect of preparing himself for what could be the most difficult battle of his life. Numbly, he bowed. "Yes Masters. May the Force be with you." Around the room holo-transmissions flickered out and Masters began to leave. Anakin still felt a little bewildered.

"You have much to prepare for Anakin," Obi-Wan's voice was gentle. "Get some rest. I will let Padmé know what has happened and make preparations for the journey." Anakin nodded with a smile to his friend and began to walk to the door. He had so much to think about, he needed to find his focus. Master Windu had been right, this was his chance to prove himself…

Anakin's vague thoughts were interrupted by a sharp prod to his leg. He looked down to see Master Yoda frowning up at him.

"Care you must take, young Skywalker," the ancient Jedi said quietly. "Deceived her family, she has. Great distress she has caused them. Be sure you must be, that she does not do the same to you."


	4. Chapter 3

Wil Roden waited nervously in the shadows of the corridor by the Council Chamber, watching carefully as the Jedi Masters exited one by one. After escorting the Chancellor to the Temple he had lurked anxiously outside the room, straining to catch muffled fragments of conversation through the closed door. He'd not been able to hear enough to work out what was happening, but the expression on Palpatine's face as he had swept past seemed to indicate that something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

Suddenly, Roden felt himself shoved backwards against the wall. A cold pressure gripped his throat. Panicking, he realised he couldn't breathe. Instinctively, he reached a hand up to his neck to stave off his attacker, but all he felt was his own pulse thumping wildly beneath his skin.

"What are you doing here?" A voice hissed in his ear. It was Kenobi's. Just when he felt like his lungs would burst, the pressure on his windpipe was reduced enough for him to speak.

"I…, I could not leave until I knew the outcome," Roden gasped. Silently, the Jedi pushed him through a nearby doorway and swiftly palmed the door shut.

Roden rubbed at his neck as he looked around. The room was dimly lit – the only illumination being provided by a set of crimson holomaps bleeding eerily along one wall, and a circular table in the centre displayed battlefield schematics, also in red. The rest of the room was swathed in darkness. Normally, this would have been enough to make Roden shudder, but now it only reminded him of his heart: dark, abandoned, bleeding. Tears pooled in his eyes.

"Well?" Obi-Wan's tone was impatient.

"The Council refused, didn't they? Oh Master Kenobi, what am I to do?" Roden collapsed on a low circular seat, putting his head in his hands.

Obi-Wan responded with a snort of derision. "Why, go to bed and sleep!"

Roden ignored him. "The Temple has a lake somewhere doesn't it? Is that nearby? I think I will go and drown myself."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Perhaps I should jump from the window then. Do you think that would be a better idea?" Roden looked up brightly.

Amusement flickered on Obi-wan's face. "Now you're just being silly."

"It's silly to live when my life is a disaster! I know it's shameful to be so in love, but I cannot help it."

Obi-Wan sighed and strode over to him. "Listen, Wil," He sat down by Roden's side, placing one hand on his arm and squeezing gently. "What you _feel_, who you _are_, is under your control. Of course you can help it! It's just a question of applying reason and rationality. Only the weak-minded allow their base instincts to control their actions."

"_Base instincts_? Obi-Wan, I love her! She is in my very soul, _tormenting_ me." He looked up mournfully, blinking back tears.

"Nonsense! You are just letting your emotions get the better of you. You must focus on your goal. If the situation has turned against you? Then find a solution."

Roden sniffed. "What solution?"

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, as if considering whether to divulge a secret. He took a breath.

"Join us on Tarrabba."

"In battle? I am no soldier."

"No, but your wealth and influence could prove very useful in ending the war. The remaining Separatists may need to be persuaded, unofficially of course, to surrender."

Roden smiled knowingly. He understood the kind of persuasion Obi-Wan was talking about.

Obi-Wan patted his arm. "And I'm sure Senator Amidala would be most impressed by anyone who was single-handedly responsible for negotiating the peace treaty."

Roden pondered the Jedi's words. A flicker of optimism stirred in his chest. The plan seemed sound, but wait - there was still a rather significant problem. He couldn't see how impressing Padmé would-

"Get rid of Anakin?" Obi-Wan finished his thought.

Roden's heart slumped again. He nodded. "However much I may impress her, she is still married to _him_."

"And very quickly she may realise she should have chosen someone else." Obi-Wan slipped an arm around his shoulders conspiratorially. "Anakin has fallen in and out of love a hundred times, I've seen it myself. And she is in love with the idea of him, not the reality. Believe me, when her infatuation fades she'll realise the gravity of her mistake, and she'll look for someone else, someone more suitable. _Someone_ of whom her family would approve."

Cogs turned in Roden's mind. The logic clicked into place. His face began to flush. He had been so foolish! Obi-Wan made it sounds so easy. Why hadn't he thought of it himself? He sat up a little straighter and wiped his eyes. "So what do I need to do?"

"Nute Gunray and his cronies have expensive tastes. You will need money, plenty of money. Maybe everything you have. The rest, you can leave to me." Obi-Wan patted his back.

Roden nodded, getting to his feet.

Obi-Wan looked up at him with a grin. "And no more talk of drowning, or jumping from buildings, or any such nonsense! If necessary I can think of many ways for you to die impressing Padmé."

Roden laughed nervously. "Then we will meet before your departure?"

The Jedi nodded. "I'll send a message the usual way."

"Very well. Good night Master Kenobi. And thank you, thank you _so_ much." Roden shook his hand heartily. He strode to the door but then hesitated, suddenly remembering where he was. "Erm… now I just need to work out how to get out of here."

"If anyone stops you say you were bringing a private message to me from Chancellor Palpatine regarding tonight's meeting. They should not question you any further."

Roden nodded with a grin and activated the door.

Obi-Wan watched it slide softly shut behind him.

Alone in the darkened room, it seemed almost as if the crimson light slipped from the walls to pool around him. Obi-Wan rose slowly and strode to the holotable. The light followed him, flickering in his eyes, whispering gently in seductive tones.

He tucked an arm across his chest, stroking his beard with the finger and thumb of the opposite hand. Displayed on the table were the positions of over ten thousand troops, every single one under his command. Success was tangible. He could taste it. The future was mapping itself out, solidifying before him. Yes, there was the small matter of the rest of the Jedi, but they would all be taken care of easily enough.

All but one.

One would need special treatment.

It was tiresome, having to deal with the boy. Obi-Wan had even offered him a way out, but the fools had not let him take it.

Anakin should not have been a Jedi. He saw the Order's hypocrisy just as clearly as Obi-Wan did. Anakin too played along with their games because he had no choice. So many times Obi-Wan had fantasised of Anakin's power, put to the right use…

Yes, the young man put too much faith in people, had an unsavoury taste for honesty, and was distinctly unaware of his own flaws.

Impulsion, pride, attachment.

_Attachment leads to jealousy, jealousy leads to hate… _

Master Yoda's words echoed in his mind.

_Be sure you must be, that she does not do the same to you._

Obi-Wan smiled. How then, was he the villain, if he were to show Anakin Skywalker the truth?


	5. Chapter 4

Suspended carefree, as if beyond the reaches of gravity, a thousand glittering particles danced and drifted in the energy of yellow-blonde fire. Standing to one side of the window, out of the direct stream of radiation, the handmaiden worked steadily, caught up in her thoughts and oblivious to the silent dance. Frowning, she felt her nose tickle. No matter how many times she had mopped the floor and scrubbed the walls of the small kitchen of their temporary quarters on Tarrabba Prime, it always seemed dusty. The room was cool and usually smelt vaguely of damp, but this morning a sweet and heady floral scent permeated the air.

"Perhaps I should ask Dormé to check the comm. system again." Senator Amidala's voice drifted in from the courtyard. Hearing the Nabooian version of her name mentioned, the girl stopped what she was doing and looked up, squinting against the bright sunlight.

"Milady, it has only been five minutes. Please, sit down and try to relax." Bail Organa placed his hand on Padmé's arm, fixing her with kind brown eyes and smiling sympathetically. Persuaded after a moment, the senator flopped down in her seat and half-heartedly picked up a data pad from the table in front of her.

Dormé watched the interchange with mild interest. Any distraction from her current task was welcome. On the counter before her lay a huge pile of long-stemmed scarlet flowers, a small pile of trimmed flowers, a sharp knife and a white ceramic container. Dormé did not care for flower arranging; nor did she share her employer's passion for collecting dead and dying vegetation. _Not that Padmé has any choice in the matter right now,_ Dormé thought. Everyone the senator met seemed to feel the need to bring her samples of the various brightly-coloured blooms that grew in surprising abundance throughout the barren sun-baked plains of this wild and beautiful planet.

From her shaded viewpoint Dormé continued to watch as Padmé stared silently at the display device with unfocused eyes. After less than a minute the senator dropped it back on the table with a sigh, tapping her fingers on the weather-beaten surface.

"It's no good Bail, I can't concentrate knowing what he could be doing right now. If anything happened to him, we'd be here, acting normally, none the wiser. It's unbearable."

"Would you like to take a walk down by the ocean?" Bail's expression was earnest.

"It is still cool at this hour, and we have some time before the heat becomes too severe."

"No, no, you were right," Padmé replied quickly. "We have much work to do. There will be many changes to debate when we return to the Senate." Padmé fiddled with a wayward brown ringlet that had fallen loose from the mass of curls gathered on top of her head. "I just wish we had better communications here, it feels so isolated..."

"It is for your own safety, Padmé. Remember you are lucky to be here at all. " Bail's gaze returned to his own work. "You've seen the reports yourself. The Separatists are surrendering all around us. The war is very nearly won. Master Kenobi is due back at any moment. I'm sure he will bring news of Anakin's victory against Grievous."

Padmé smiled at her colleague's reassurance and place a delicate hand on his cream-clothed forearm. "I'm so very glad you agreed to come here Bail. I must remember to thank Obi-Wan for the suggestion. I don't think I would have managed for this past week without you."

Bail smiled and nodded politely in response, but kept his eyes away from hers. His cheeks and neck flushed a little pinker than their normal tanned hue.

Dormé watched the Alderaanian senator's reaction in amusement, wondering if there was any man in the galaxy who wasn't in love with Padmé. They were all the same: Anakin Skywalker, Gregar Typho, Bail Organa. She recognised the same longing look in their eyes, the same manner of speech when they were around the senator. They all did it, even _him_...

Feeling a sharp pain Dormé cursed under her breath, grabbing a towel quickly to soak up the blood that pooled on her finger before it could drip on her dress. She watched the crimson speck absent-mindedly as it expanded rapidly outwards into the virgin white material, noticing how similar the bloody pattern looked to the scarlet blooms Bail had brought for Padmé .

Even now, after working as Padmé's handmaiden and personal bodyguard for several months, she found it difficult to believe the senator did not realise the effect she had on men. Although she was three years younger than Padmé at times she felt twice the senator's age – she had certainly lived through twice as much. She had learned to ignore the frustration. Although claustrophobic and often boring, this job would serve a purpose for her, and it was safe, or at least safer than what she was used to, what she had grown up with. She sometimes wondered if Padmé would be horrified to find out the truth about her background, about where she had lived. _Probably not_, she reasoned, although the Naberrie family certainly would be. She did know that Padmé would be horrified by some of the things she had done. But how could someone as privileged as Senator Amidala even begin to imagine what she had been through?

The bleeding had stopped. Dormé dropped the towel back on the work surface and tentatively picked up the offending plant, examining it carefully. Her close inspection revealed it was not the flowers but the foliage that had caused the injury - a single very sharp thorn was hidden under each glossy green leaf. _Perhaps this job was not as safe as she thought_, she joked to herself, sucking hard on the offending finger until it stopped stinging.

_You were lucky_, he had said dismissively when she recounted the sequence of events that had lead to her employment by Padmé._ In my experience, there is no such thing as luck, _she had responded defensively. Placing the trimmed flowers carefully in the vase Dormé considered once again how true that was. Yes, her physical resemblance to the senator was fortunate, but the rest of the night's events had occurred as a direct result of her own hard work and determination. Now, the idealistic senator was her ticket to freedom, and she would take that ticket at the earliest possible opportunity. If there was one thing she had learned through bitter experience it was that there was no point wasting time on sympathy for those more fortunate than herself. If she saw what she wanted she would take it without pause, reflection or regret. She felt no guilt for the small collection of expensive jewels, tokens and credit chips locked in a hidden compartment of the small trunk that held her meagre belongings: Padmé would probably not miss them anyway. And she would feel no regret when one day she would walk out with a small fraction of Padmé's enormous wealth. Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi, she had been right - there was no such thing as luck.

Dormé slid the last stem into place and picked up a jug to fetch water. She struggled to loosen the tap. Her hand was shaking.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi_. Even repeating his name in her thoughts was enough to affect her physically. She closed her eyes as she felt a familiar rush through her veins – _heated, pulsing, dangerous_. It was a terrible weakness, this addiction, as physiologically real as the dependency on cilona that had killed her father.

It was after his first visit to Senator Amidala that Dormé had realised the Jedi was not all he seemed. Kenobi had arrived late at night enquiring after the Padmé and Dormé had shown him in to the senator's apartment, listening to a little of their conversation about Anakin as she worked on the Padmé's security protocol in the adjacent room. It was only when Obi-Wan left that she had noticed his eyes, glinting like blue crystals as he pulled up the hood of his robe.

Those eyes haunted her dreams and she woke later that night, remembering the dark-robed stranger from long ago with the cultured accent and the jewelled eyes that had made seventeen year-old Dara Rashid chilled and then flushed as they locked with hers. She recalled seeing him several times and it was clear on reflection that these meetings, in a well-known smuggling haunt, and with some of the most despicable local villains, could not have been official Jedi business.

Once she made the connection she had considered following him and demanding money but decided against it. Then he visited the senatorial apartment again when Padmé was out and the prospect of a hefty fee for her silence was too good an opportunity to miss. It was audacious of her perhaps, but her confidence was boosted by her previous experiences; she had always found it straightforward to take whatever she wanted from men – they were too predictable, too easy to manipulate.

A low creak and the banging of pipes interrupted Dormé's thoughts as the ancient metal handle began to turn and water sloshed into the jug. She shut off the tap and walked back across the room to fill the container of flowers with water. The large blooms were already beginning to wilt in the heat radiating from the open window, their flimsy petals starting to sag listlessly under their own weight. Without water they would be dry and dead by the end of the day. In a week they would be dead anyway.

She had instigated the affair, she had to admit that. She had made her demand to him and instinctively accompanied it by the body language that hinted – without offering - something more. It had worked on all the men she had taken advantage of previously - just a tilt of her chin, a tiny flick of her tongue across her lip. She had watched, unsurprised, as he stepped towards her. She was ready to smile and push him away, teasingly, but innocent.

But then she had been captured by those dangerous eyes. Mesmerised by green and blue fire that had danced as if alive, she had leant towards him, gaze flickering to his parted lips, anticipating the kiss. With only millimetres between them he had pulled away and stepped back with a quiet but cruel laugh.

Dormé gripped the counter. She could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears, each beat sending a burst of electricity down her spine. Even though she had replayed the memory a thousand times, it still had this effect on her. Such was the state of her addiction. She knew she should resist, but as she stood, weakened, watching through the window as a more beautiful, innocent and selfless version of herself talked quietly with her equally handsome and honourable companion, she could not help recall every detail of that night,

She remembered exactly how her voice had sounded as she spat at him, _bastard_, the arrogant expression on his face as he moved back towards her, so sure of himself, and the feeling of her thighs trapped against his. The heat in her blood burned as she recalled her half-hearted attempt at a struggle, his hands pinning hers, his lips on her neck, and the prickle of his beard as he whispered licentiously in her ear. Her legs trembled now just as they had done when she felt the wet velvet of his tongue in her mouth, the rough surface of his hands plucking the smooth skin of her thighs, and as she moaned his name just as he had told her she would, on the glossy black conference table, against the floor to ceiling windows in the living area, and in Padmé's silk and velvet-covered bed.

It was obvious to her now, of course, when she watched him with anyone, that he was playing some kind of game. She did not want to know the details, it did not concern her. _Let him play them for fools_, she thought, they only had themselves to blame if they were taken in by him.

Glancing down, she noticed the flowers had already started to be rejuvenated by the water, only a few petals remaining listless. She carried the heavy vase carefully across the room and placed it in the centre of Padmé's work table, next to the framed holo of her husband.

Outside, she heard Padmé' debating a political point enthusiastically with Bail: it sounded as if finally the senator had been distracted. She was placing cups onto a tray to take them some refreshments when she heard Padmé stop mid-sentence and the sharp scrape of a chair on stone as someone got to their feet.

"Master Kenobi!" The senator spoke breathlessly. "I was so terribly worried. It's good to see you alive and well! Have you heard anything from my husband?"


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Many thanks to those that have commented. Please let me know if you're enjoying this!

* * *

"I'm sorry, Senator Amidala. I'm afraid it is simply a matter of waiting." Obi-Wan raised a hand and tapped the comlink attached to his black military shirt. "Anakin will contact me directly at the earliest possible opportunity." Obi-Wan had not been able to bring much news of comfort to Padmé. Straight from victory against diminishing Separatist forces at the other side of the Tarrabba System, he had reported only that a clone troop platoon had recently been called in to help General Skywalker apprehend General Grievous on Utapau, and that Anakin had last been seen engaged in direct combat with the droid general. 

Dormé carefully transferred the cups of cold juice to the available space on the table between piles of data pads and manuscripts.

"Thank you Dormé." Padmé's smile was a little fragile. "Please, take a seat and join us, you have been working far too hard all morning."

Dormé slid out a chair at the opposite side of the table to Obi-Wan and reached for a glass, sipping the cold liquid slowly. She was careful not to make eye contact with the Jedi as she sat down. She knew Obi-Wan was fully aware of the effect he had on her, and the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself in front of Padmé. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

The conversation drifted from smalltalk to the progress of the war. Apparently, everything was going to plan. Master Yoda had recently lead a successful defence of Kashyyk, and someone called Master Vos had moved his troops to Bos Pity. Dormé tried to relax and enjoy the warmth of the sun, and ignore the strange floating sensation being induced in her body by the proximity of the Jedi who could boil her blood and freeze her mind with a single look. I can do this, she thought. I can be normal around him. After all, she knew things about him that he wouldn't want anyone else to know. _The small intricately-patterned tattoo on his right hip, for a start._ Her knowledge gave her some power over him, didn't it?

"Well, Obi-Wan, I must say it is a pleasure to have you here with us." Bail's tone was saying. "Now what shall we discuss? The Military Reformation Act? Chancellor Palpatine's proposal of new powers for his unelected advisors? Your opinion would be highly valued."

Obi-Wan drained his drink then studied the bottom of his glass with a smile. "I'm afraid I don't have much of a head for politics, Senator Organa."

"What Obi-Wan is trying to say politely is that he doesn't like politicians." Padmé quipped jokingly.

Obi-Wan slowly placed his glass on the table and looked up at the young senator. His eyes sparkled mischievously as they made contact with hers. "I wouldn't say that."

Padmé blushed a little but her eyes seemed to sparkle too. "Then perhaps it would be better to say you don't trust us?"

Obi-Wan tapped his finger on the table. "Well, without divulging any names of course, I can assure you that some of my recent experiences with politicians have given me an insight into just how manipulative you all are."

"Manipulative? Us? That's not true, is it Bail?" Padmé feigned indignation. Bail merely shook his head with a small smile.

"Oh come on, you're all the same." Obi-Wan sat back in his chair. His eyes flicked to Dormé for half a second.

_You're enjoying this_, she thought, holding his gaze.

_Yes I am,_ his eyes said. She looked away.

"Please enlighten us with your wisdom, Master Kenobi," Padmé teased.

"Well, as I see it, in public you try to portray yourselves as intelligent, respectable, and honest," Obi-Wan spoke with just a hint of sarcasm, "but in private you do nothing but plot against each other. You make yourselves sound saintly when you condemn other people, then you pretend to be mortified when you are criticised. You want one thing ," he lifted a finger, " - power, and spend most of your time trying to convince everyone you would give it up in an instant for the sake of democracy." He folded his arms across his chest and sat back with a smug smile.

Padmé bit her lip and shook her head silently, still smiling at him.

"No, it is true, or I am a Sith." Obi-Wan reached to pour himself another drink. "In fact I am rather envious of you, because a job so deceitful must be enjoyable, or else why would you do it?" He sipped his drink calmly.

"Well because..." Bail started defensively but then stopped, realising they were being teased mercilessly. "Bah -" he waved his hand, "you clearly have nothing flattering to say about us." In spite of the humourous tone in his voice, he looked a little put out.

Padmé on the other hand seemed to be rather enjoying the argument. "But if you had to, Obi-Wan, what would you say to flatter me?" She asked in her most melodic voice.

Dormé laughed inwardly. Only Padmé could get away with such overt flirtation whilst seeming perfectly innocent. Which, of course, she was.

"Oh no, don't make me do that m'lady. I'm much too critical. You'd -"

Obi-Wan's comlink link beeped. Padmé's face grew solemn. The Jedi checked the device quickly but then shook his head. "No, just a standard bulletin from Coruscant."

Padmé slouched in her chair. She looked pale.

"Are you all right m'lady?" Dormé asked. Padmé had not slept well at all since they'd arrived.

The senator patted her hand. "Yes, of course Dormé, I'm fine. Could you please get us something more to drink?" Dormé stood up and reached for the empty jug. Obi-Wan caught her eye again. This time she held his gaze for several seconds. Padmé started talking. He looked away.

"Come on Master Kenobi, you know how worried I am about Anakin. Tell me what you'd say about me, just to distract me," the senator implored.

Walking past him, Dormé watched Obi-Wan roll his glass between his fingers. The sunlight glinted gold in his hair.

She caught his reply as she stepped into the kitchen, "I'm trying to think of something to amuse you Senator, but I'm not very good at improvisation..."

The kitchen was several degrees cooler than the courtyard now. Soon it would be too hot to sit there comfortably. She poured more juice and ran some cold water over her wrists, holding them to her throbbing head. It was tempting to stay inside, away from him, but she knew she had to go back out. No man had ever intimidated her before. _And he is just a man, after all_, she told herself.

The brightness and heat hit her like a wall when she stepped outside. She could feel Obi-Wan's eyes following her as she walked steadily back over to the seated group.

The perfect dramatist, Obi-Wan was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Ah yes, I've got it." He took a sip of his drink and swallowed. "Now politicians might be untrustworthy, but a politician who is also a_woman_, particularly a very _beautiful_ one, is simply dangerous, because she'll almost certainly use both her beauty and her intelligence to get what she wants."

Bail groaned. Dormé couldn't help but smile. Padmé was the youngest-ever elected queen of her home planet. She was nothing if not a feminist. "You must excuse him, Padmé," Bail said, "after all, what could _he_ know of women?"

Padmé raised one eyebrow sardonically, then leaned forward to put her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. "And what experience do you have of women, Master Kenobi?"

Dormé knew he'd do it again. This time she was prepared, setting her chin defiantly and locking his jade-blue eyes with her brown ones. Beautiful as they may be,_ they are only eyes, after all._

What she wasn't prepared for was to feel the ghost of a caress on the inside of her knee. She bit her lip. Obi-Wan looked away, eyes glinting.

"Ah, you have me there, m'lady," he said with a shake of his head. "Much as Anakin has attempted to make the situation otherwise, I'm afraid women are far too complicated for this poor fool." He chuckled.

Dormé swallowed. The phantom fingers were still there, teasing lightly. Gently, they moved up to trace the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Padmé laughed triumphantly. "Then I think you will have to concede defeat,_General Kenobi_, to us duplicitous politicians, who do not have the luxury of honesty, like you."

Obi-Wan conceded silently with a small bow of the head. Idly, his fingers stroked small circles on the surface of the table. Dormé's gaze was rivetted to the tiny movement. The pattern was being mirrored by the invisible touch teasing the outer lace of her underwear.

"Ever the noble knight." Murmured Bail.

Feeling light-headed, Dormé had carefully placed one hand over her face and was biting on her thumb. She could taste blood. In a second she would stand up, and walk back to the kitchen. _In just a second..._

Suddenly, Obi-Wan's comlink beeped again. Everyone except Obi-Wan jumped.

"Master?"

Obi-Wan got to his feet. "Anakin? Are you alright? Were you successful?"

"Yes Master, of course." The younger Jedi's laid-back voice crackled on the transmission. "I'm on my way back to you now. No time to talk. Tell Padmé I love her."


	7. Chapter 6

Anakin arrived at the Republic base on Tarrabba Prime just before dusk. The military encampment had been set up in the dry plains of the planet's widest valley, a necessity for landing the enormous Venator-class Star Destroyers used for transport of the army's troops and cargo. Flying in an efficient de-orbit trajectory towards the base's small starfighter landing strip, Anakin craned his neck to take in the landscape. The fading pink light of the setting sun cast long shadows from a hulk of dark ochre mountains over a valley scattered with ships, shuttles and other military paraphernalia. Neat lines of grey buildings, temporary home to over 500,000 injured and recovering clone troopers, extended across the valley floor. The vast expanse of the military base dwarfed the concentrated mass of the original settlement, a cluster of white stone buildings teetering between indigo ocean and barren mountainside on a strip of line to the west.

The ancient city of Tirith, Anakin recalled, had been almost completely abandoned several centuries before, when the long-plundered mineral resources of the planet's mines had finally been exhausted. More importantly, one of those crumbling buildings, and he hoped it was a sturdy one, was temporary home to his angel. His beloved, his sweet, beautiful and vivacious Padmé. It had been over seven days since they had last been together, and during that time Anakin had been so focused on his mission that he had barely a moment to think about her. But as he coasted to a stop on the dusty surface of the runway, Artoo chirruping that all was well, systems were intact and normal and the air of this alien planet was safe for his master to breathe, Anakin's thoughts were once again focused on his wife. He simply couldn't wait to see her, to hold her in his arms, and tell her that the end of the war was expected in a matter of days, and that finally she was safe – that they all were safe.

As Anakin popped the canopy of his starfighter the sun finally sank behind the black horizon. With a slow hiss, the warm night air of Tarrabba penetrated his senses. It was always the same, when landing somewhere new - the first physical contact one had was with the atmosphere. Strangely, Anakin had found this short initial experience could tell him a lot about a place. Tonight he tasted salt, and smelled the aroma of warm rock with a faint accent of herbs. In his lungs, the air felt heavy and damp, and strangely… sinister. With a frown Anakin reached out into the Force but could feel nothing threatening. In fact, what he felt there was almost as welcome as the prospect of seeing his wife.

"Master!" Anakin was clasping Obi-Wan's hand in his own the moment his feet touched the ground. A smile crinkled the older Jedi's eyes as he shook the younger man's hand.

"It is so good to see you Anakin."

"And you Ma-.. Obi-Wan." They laughed. Anakin had been a knight for over two years but he still found it difficult to call Obi-Wan anything other than Master.

Still smiling, they began to walk together towards the nearest military bunker.

"And Padmé is well?" Anakin did his best to disguise the anxiety in his voice.

"Yes, perfectly, and even better for hearing your voice earlier today. "

"I can't wait to see her."

"The house where she has been staying is just a short drive away. You'll be there before you know  
it," Obi-Wan relaxed tone reassured him. "You debriefed in orbit, I assume?"

"Yes," Anakin nodded, "full report dictated and logged."

"Have you heard back from the Temple?"

"No, why?"

Obi-Wan stopped walking. Suddenly, his expression became grave. Anakin's heart sank. He had just vanquished the enemy who no other Jedi had been able to defeat. He had single-handedly brought an end to the war. What in the galaxy could the Council find fault with now?

"Well, I'm afraid I have been asked to inform you," Obi-Wan rubbed his chin and looked down at the floor, "after a unanimous vote just five minutes ago-"

Anakin steeled himself for the worst. Obi-Wan looked up, hand still covering part of his face. Anakin detected the vaguest twinkle in his eyes.

"…that you have been appointed to the Council."

Anakin's brain processed the words slowly. He was exhausted from battle, worn out from the exertion of the hardest fight of his life. Could he have imagined what Obi-Wan had just said?

"No, you're not imagining it Anakin." Obi-Wan's hand dropped to reveal a smile full of pride for the accomplishments of his friend. "It is true. As I said a meeting was called just five minutes ago. And in the next meeting, _Master Skywalker_, you will be eligible to vote."

Seeing the look on Obi-Wan's face, Anakin finally believed it. _Him, a Master?_ It was something he'd always wanted, always dreamed of. For five or six seconds he was ecstatic.

"I – well, I don't know what to say."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Just enjoy the moment. You deserve it." Obi-Wan patted his arm. "But come, let's get you checked in and on your way. Padmé is waiting."

It was once they were walking again, that the doubts began to creep in.

Suddenly, after all this time, the Council trusted him. Why? He'd only done what they all knew he was capable of. And what about his marriage? Mace Windu obviously thought Anakin had deliberately tried to use the value of his abilities to be allowed to remain married to Padmé. But they had warned him that their acceptance of his marriage would most likely be revoked after the war. Surely by appointing him to the Council with no comment on the matter that meant they were allowing it to remain in place. Right now, he should have been elated, but instead all he could think was _why?_

There were so many questions he wanted to ask Obi-Wan, but perhaps he was just too tired to think straight. Perhaps things would seem better in the morning. So instead of saying anything, he just grinned and nodded, whilst Obi-Wan slapped him on the back and laughed.

After a brief check-in with military security, the two Jedi climbed aboard an ancient, rusting speeder for the short drive to the old city. Slumped in the passenger seat, Anakin was still in a state of confusion. He even felt the shadow of something sinister in the Force now. It was elusive, shifting and slipping away from his mind whenever he thought he had reached it. He suppressed a shudder, deciding not to mention this to Obi-Wan either, persuading himself that he was just having difficulty adjusting to the snail's pace of normal life, always a shock after the intense time-compression of a Force-enhanced combat. The flashing of General Grievous' duel sabers replayed before his eyes. Anakin blinked. The fight must have taken more out of him than he thought. Everything would be better once he'd seen Padmé.

She was waiting for him outside the gate. He recognised the small hooded figure the moment she came into view. The speeder had barely begun to slow down before he had leapt to the ground and was sweeping her up into his arms. Pulling back slightly, he cupped her cheeks in both hands, studying every feature of her sweet face before lowering his own to capture her lips in a much longed-for kiss.

"Anakin," she said breathlessly as their lips parted.

"I missed you." He stroked her face, inhaling her scent, reassuring himself that she was really there.

She smiled up at him through teary eyes. "Come inside. You look exhausted." She slipped a small arm around his waist.

He stooped to kiss her once again before finally allowing her to lead him into the courtyard of the small stone building.

"I really missed you."

Anakin was so entranced by the sight of his wife that he didn't even notice Bail Organa sat at the table in the courtyard of their lodgings, still working by the light of an old-fashioned oil lamp.

Bail watched as the pair disappeared into the house.

"She is very beautiful, isn't she?" Obi-Wan pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Hmm?"

"The senator."

"Well yes, of course," Bail replied with a cautious smile.

"Anakin is a very lucky man."

"And a hero, from what I hear." Bail poured amber-coloured wine from a small earthenware jug into a glass. "Would you-?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Obi-Wan took a swig of the drink. "In fact we are expecting the Separatists' formal surrender tomorrow. In private, of course."

Bail nodded with a small laugh. The members of the Trade Federation were not known for their gallantry. Even in the face of overwhelming defeat, they would be likely to surrender only if it could be done in a manner by which they would not lose face.

But that didn't matter, as long as the war was finally over.

"And I assume you heard Chancellor Palpatine's latest extraordinary proposal?" Obi-Wan continued.

"No. What has he asked for now?" Bail shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing for a moment that they had taken lodgings in the valley as Padmé had originally requested, with full and instant access to military communications from the inner core. Events were likely to move very quickly in the next few days.

"He has asked for a senator to sit on the Jedi Council."

"Really?" Bail was surprised. The Chancellor and the Jedi did often not see eye to eye, but before now they had been kept distinctly separate by mutual agreement.

"Yes, and even more surprising is that we had to concede."

"You agreed? Why?"

Bail watched Obi-Wan take another swig from his wine. In the lamplight gold highlights swam in the liquid like tiny flickerfish.

The Jedi sighed. "Because of Anakin."

"The marriage?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "He has put us in a very difficult position. Unfortunately there was no room to negotiate."

Bail frowned. He had the feeling that the Supreme Chancellor himself was included in the politicians Obi-Wan had referred to with such distaste earlier in the day. Secretly, Bail agreed. In his opinion, Palpatine had ridden roughshod over democracy to make a name for himself, and he'd done it for far too long.

"But surely the Chancellor can not just appoint his own staff to the Jedi Council?

Obi-Wan smiled ruefully, as if he fully understood Bail's concern. "Anyone putting them selves forward must be seconded by two members of the Council. In the event of more than one candidate the Council will vote to make the final selection."

"You make that sound unlikely."

"Palpatine is trying to push the process through quickly."

Now Bail was extremely worried. If Palpatine managed to get one of his cronies appointed to have power over the Jedi, who knew what he would be capable of...

"This is terrible news. We must find an opposing candidate, as soon as possible." He stood up and began to pace back and forwards nervously.

"Hmm," Obi-Wan mused thoughtfully, remaining seated.

Suddenly, a possible solution entered Bail's head. He stopped. "Wait. _What if…?_ No, I couldn't."

"Couldn't what?" Obi-Wan asked innocently.

"You don't think they would… would they accept me as a candidate?"

"Well, I can't think of any reason why not." Obi-Wan's expression was genuine. He rubbed his chin, as if contemplating the prospect. "You would have my nomination, of course. Then you would just need one other."

Bail couldn't help but smile. It was a great compliment to receive Obi-Wan's endorsement. If there was any doubt in his mind, it had been banished by the Jedi's obvious confidence in him. Then he frowned again. "But I would need another nomination, and I barely know the rest of the Council."

"But you know Padmé."

"I don't see how…"

"Bail, believe me, Padmé admires and trusts you. She's told me herself. She would support you on this, and most importantly, she has a great influence over Anakin. And of course Anakin has just been appointed to the Council."

_  
Really?_ Bail thought. Even more important news he didn't know about. This was becoming embarrassing. "Oh, but I couldn't ask her…"

"Of course you could! Now is not a time for modesty. This democracy, that you value so highly," Obi-Wan smiled ironically, "is in danger. Now you'd give your life to save it, wouldn't you? Asking a small favour from Padmé is insignificant in comparison." Obi-Wan sat back in his chair.

"Well, I suppose…" Bail had to agree. Obi-Wan's argument certainly made sense. But he would still feel uncomfortable asking for such a favour from Padmé.

"I can suggest it to Padmé myself if that makes it easier for you."

"Would you?" It seemed all his doubts had been resolved.

"Of course. I'll do it tomorrow." Obi-Wan got to his feet. "But now I'm afraid the hour is late and I have a long day of diplomatic negotiations in front of me." He smiled.

"Yes, of course."

"Good night Senator." They shook hands.

"Good night Master Kenobi."

Padmé watched from the doorway of the bedchamber as her husband slept. It had been obvious on his return that Anakin was exhausted, and she had insisted he go straight to bed, alone, to sleep. Anakin had not been too pleased with her suggestion. Cheeks flushed, he had held her to him, kissing her lips and telling her how much he wanted them to be together that night, how much he wanted to make love to her.

But, for his own good, she had gently pushed him away. They had the rest of their lives together, she had said, and they had waited such a long time already. What difference would one more night make? She wanted their first time to be special, and, she had joked, he would need his strength. He was too exhausted to argue. She had tucked the blankets around him, and stroked his forehead. Within moments he had fallen asleep.

_  
He is so beautiful_, she thought as she walked over to her bed in the adjacent room. Her wonderful, generous, and handsome hero. The feeling of having him here, safe, finally, was one of complete and utter relief, but at the same time it was bewildering. She had not actually conceived of life beyond this moment, not daring to imagine a future together, for fear of losing him, either to the Jedi, or worse…

Reaching under her hair, Padmé undid the clasp at the back of her neck, removing the necklace she had worn next to her heart for every single hour that they had been separated. Anakin had given her the good luck charm - a Tatooinean Jappor Snippet – only a few days after they had first met, so many years ago. Padmé fingered the simple wooden pendant with a smile of reminiscence before placing it in a dish on her dressing table and turning away with a small frown.

It was when they had walked into the house together earlier in the evening that she had felt the first slight twinge of fear. Strict in her mental discipline, she had not allowed herself to fantasize about the moment Anakin would take her to bed. Now, climbing into the large bed alone, she felt a tremor of anxiety at the prospect of physical intimacy with her husband. Of course, she loved him with all her heart, but her upbringing and political career had left her little time for relationships. She was no virgin, but she knew relatively little about sex. Obi-Wan, in his gentle and caring way, had warned her that Anakin may have some problems because of his own background. The older Jedi had not given much detail, but it was enough to scare her.

As Padmé's mind drifted slowly towards the black stillness of sleep, single thoughts rose freely like bubbles to burst on the surface of her consciousness: A concern for Dormé, who had looked rather unwell this afternoon (she must make her have a day off tomorrow), an idle question as to whether she would need to order more provisions from the valley, and finally, when thought was more a sequence of emotions than conscious words, came the unwelcome truth that the reason she was falling asleep that night was not a concern for her husband's welfare, but a selfish and irrational fear that he might hurt her.

In the bedchamber of his own lodgings at the very edge of the old city, Obi-Wan slumped in a threadbare upholstered chair. The room was dimly lit by three of the same type of oil lamps used in the courtyard in Padmé's accommodation. The scented oil, which smelt faintly of spices, was still produced on the planet from the seeds of the brightly colours wildflowers which seemed to grow over-eagerly in every available grain of soil.

On the small wooden table before him were three items: A pot of Republic standard ration tea, brewed strongly until it was almost black, a large glass cup, half full and steaming, and the sleek silver hilt of his lightsaber.

His Jedi lightsaber.

Another weapon, superficially similar yet diametrically opposed, was held reverently in his hands.

At home in his grasp, the hilt weighed heavy with a seductive strength. The surface of the black curved handle, plain and unadorned in appearance unless held by its creator, tonight glowed with the shifting characters of an ancient script. The Mordon blood crystal within waited patiently for the time when its power would be unleashed.

Every night, while those around him slept, Obi-Wan cradled the bladeless weapon, allowing his mind to reach out into the dark side of the Force, letting it flow through him, thick in his veins, rejuvenating, comforting, intoxicating, affording him the relaxation that many years ago had been provided by sleep.

Obi-Wan no longer remembered what it felt like to sleep.

He no longer remembered what it was like before.

Before it started.

Before the nightmares.

Before he found his salvation.


	8. Chapter 7

Anakin drifted into wakefulness slowly. Through closed eyelids he could tell it was still dark. He opened his eyes to check the time.

At least he attempted to open his eyes.

His body refused to cooperate.

He tried again. Nothing.

Alarmed, he tried to move his head, lift an arm, a leg.

No response.

A cold chill of panic swept over him as he realised he was trapped, completely and utterly, in his own body. Was he actually awake, or just dreaming that he was awake? His own breathing was loud and harsh in his lungs but it continued, relentlessly, in and out, he could not stop or even slow it with a conscious thought.

Remembering who he was, and what he was capable of, he tried to reach into the Force, sliding tendrils of feeling out into the normally bright and harmonious mental landscape.

Instead he found only blackness. Something was very wrong.

What was the darkness surrounding him? It was not a barrier or a wall, or an enclosure or even an empty space.

It was simply an absence of anything.

No, wait – that was not quite true. There were emotions here, flitting transiently in the void. Suddenly he realised they were his own emotions. _Love, fear, hatred, anger, jealousy_. Everything his training had taught him he should not feel.

Attached to each emotion was a forbidden memory, a single event that should never have happened. His mother's face as she lay dying, the sight of Padmé tumbling away from him into a harsh desert landscape, the sounds of Tusken Raider cries as his blue blade sliced mercilessly through countless bodies, the single-minded desire for revenge against the man who had taken the lower half of his left arm, the twinge of physical pain he felt every time Padmé so much as spoke to another man.

As he watched, a landscape started to take form. It was vaguely recognisable but at the same time completely new; there were intricacies here he'd never conceived of before, shapes and organic forms that were at once beautiful and horrible. It was as if he had previously seen the Force on a single plane, but now an extra dimension had been added, an intuition that had been missing before.

Strangely, in this landscape, the emotions he had been so ashamed of fitted perfectly. He was accustomed to suppressing these feelings, hiding them like black marks, dirty secrets, abominations which did not have any place in a Jedi's mind. But here they were neither outstandingly bad nor exceedingly good; they were simply _logical_. Then he realised that the emotions the Jedi encouraged: love, compassion, faith, didn't seem to have a place here at all.

So engrossed was he in the discovery that he forgot about his previous panic, whether he was asleep or awake, living or dead. There existed only his mind, drifting, unbounded, free…

A blinding light flooded his senses. He sat up with a start.

"Good morning, my love." Padmé was pulling back the curtains in the bedchamber. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you, but you've been asleep for over twelve hours." She sat down on the bed carefully. "And Master Kenobi is on his way up to see you, he'll be here soon. Would you like a little breakfast?"

Anakin looked up at his wife. He was still bewildered, confused and a little horrified by the revelations of what felt like only seconds ago. She smiled gently. He reached out and took her small hand in his, thinking that it didn't matter if the Force was white and luminous or cold and empty and black, as long as he could see her beautiful face every morning. He kissed her hand with a smile. As long he loved her and she loved him back, nothing else mattered.

"So if all goes to plan we should be able to leave after another three days?" Anakin looked out into the distance as he spoke, mentally tracing the curved horizon of the ocean just visible through the morning haze.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. And as a special honour, Master Windu is on his way out to supervise the final arrangements." Obi-Wan smiled.

Anakin tried to smile with him, but he was still unsettled by his experience of the previous night. Dream, nightmare, some sort of vision? He didn't know what it had been. He did know that he must not have slept very well, because he still felt exhausted.

"What's the matter Anakin? Didn't you get much sleep last night?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin was at first startled by Obi-Wan's apparent intuition, before he realised from the expression on his friend's face what the older Jedi was implying. Of course, his first night with Padmé, alone. This time he did manage to force a smile.

"No such excuse, Master, I'm afraid."

If Obi-Wan was surprised he didn't say anything. After a few minutes they reached the end of the small man-made pathway along which they had been walking. They turned at the cliff face and headed back in the direction of the old city.

"And I think now would be an excellent time for you to practice using my name, instead of Master. You're making me feel old." Obi-Wan joked.

"Yes - Of course." Anakin shook his head, realising his error. "It's just - having a place on the Council – it will take some getting used to."

"Ah, it's not nearly as exciting as you think, my friend." Obi-Wan replied, his eyes twinkling. "Spending four hours debating precisely which shade of blue should be used to paint the interior of the new wing of the library is not exactly my idea of scintillating discussion." He shook his head in mock sadness. "Especially when it ends with someone dismissing the painfully worked-out decision with the words _no, green I prefer, a calming colour it is._"

Anakin couldn't help but chuckle. Obi-Wan always knew how to make him laugh. "Well if that is the case maybe I should rethink my acceptance…" he replied with a grin, finally starting to relax in his friend's company.

"Bah, no, and miss out on accessing all those forbidden archives?" Obi-Wan quipped lightly.

"Forbidden archives?"

"Yes, you have special privileges now you know. Ancient texts deemed unsuitable for padawans or even ordinary knights to get their hands on."

"Have you read them?"

"Only a few." Obi-Wan smiled. "They are in the most part ancient historical records, either interminably dull or uncommonly silly. I've no idea why they are kept secret. For example would you believe there was one group of Jedi around two thousand years ago who did not believe in a separate light and dark side to the Force?"

"Really?"

"Yes, it was called the _Potentium Principle_, if I remember correctly." Obi-Wan tilted his head. "Or was it the _Potentium View_?" He waved his hand. "Either way, these Jedi believed there was no real threat from the dark side, since it was just part of one unified Force. Negative emotions – hate, anger, fear, were even condoned as natural."

Anakin could feel a tiny prickle of excitement on the back of his neck. Obi-Wan's words echoed in his mind: _Hate, anger, fear, condoned as natural… _

"Totally irrational of course." Obi-Wan was studying him intently.

"Yes, of course." Anakin laughed quickly. "Totally irrational." _What was it called? The Potentium Principle?_ He thought back to his dream. _But it couldn't be, surely?_

They walked in silence for a while, Anakin still lost in his thoughts.

Eventually, they rounded the headland and the old city came into view. The path was set into the rocks of the shoreline. A couple of hundred metres inland lay the large rock built sea barrier that bordered the city's waterfront. Anakin could just make out the figures of his wife and Bail Organa in the distance, taking their daily walk. On the breeze he heard the distant sound of laughter. _Her laughter_. The familiar pain twinged in his neck. He suppressed it quickly. Bail was one of the most trustworthy man he knew, after Obi-Wan of course.

Then he noticed his friend had stopped walking, and, with his gaze fixed on the distant figures, was frowning.

"What's the matter?"

Obi-Wan remained silent, his expression fixed.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Wha- sorry, Oh nothing. Nothing at all," he said quickly with a smile.

Anakin had the distinct feeling the older Jedi wasn't being entirely truthful. It was easy to tell when Obi-Wan was lying, because he was no good at it.

The walked for a few minutes more.

Eventually, Obi-Wan broke the silence. "Anakin, when you were courting Padmé, did Bail know anything about it?"

"Yes, he knew about it the whole time. Why?"

"I was just curious, that's all."

They continued walking. Anakin was confused. Obi-Wan wouldn't normally ask a question without a good reason.

"It's just…" Obi-Wan spoke again, "…I didn't think Bail was so close to her."

"Oh yes, he took messages between us often." Anakin replied quickly.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. What's wrong with that? He's honest enough, isn't he?" Anakin was becoming a little irritated.

"Honest?"

"Yes, honest. Why, what are you thinking?" Anakin frowned. The twinge in his neck was becoming a throb. He didn't need this right now.

"Thinking?"

"Obi-Wan! What's wrong? Why do you keep repeating me? Will you just tell me whatever it is that's bothering you?" There was a slight edge to his voice. He was very worried. Obi-Wan did not normally behave like this.

Obi-Wan rubbed his temple. "Anakin, you know you are my friend, and I care for you deeply."

"Yes, of course."

"And Bail Organa certainly _seems_ like an honest man."

"Gods Obi-Wan, what are you implying?"

"I - I might be mistaken, perhaps I am reading more into what I've seen…"

Anakin put a hand on Obi-Wan's arm. Never before had he needed to reassure Obi-Wan. "You are my friend, Obi-Wan, I trust you. Just tell me what you're thinking, please!"

"No. Anakin. I can't."

Obi-Wan looked back at him. Anakin did not recognise the expression in his grey-blue eyes. What was it, _pity_?

"Why?" Anakin felt tears spring to his eyes. Was Obi-Wan really implying that something was going on between Bail and Padmé? Surely not?

Obi-Wan looked back at him gravely. "You must be careful, Anakin, of jealousy. Suspicion, fear, anger, have no place in the life of a Jedi."

"But Padmé loves me! I would never suspect her of anything! Yes she's beautiful, talented and other men like her – maybe even love her. But she fell in love with me!"

Anakin broke away and started to walk quickly along the path. He didn't want to hear this about Padmé. His beautiful, perfect, Padmé. Was he still dreaming? It certainly seemed like a nightmare.

"Wait, Anakin!" Obi-Wan jogged to catch up with him. "What I meant was - just watch her carefully with Bail. They are both politicians after all. They will show you only what they want you to see."

Anakin's head was spinning. Was Padmé really capable of deceiving him like that?

"She deceived her family rather effectively when she married you."

Obi-Wan's words sent a dart that pierced then chilled his heart.

It was true, she had deceived her entire family. Anakin felt his heartbeat start to quicken with panic. He looked down as his hands. They were shaking.

"I am only telling you this because I care about you Anakin. And remember they are only my suspicions, it would be better if you did not take them too seriously."

Anakin wasn't really listening. "I just can't believe Padmé would ever look at another man…" he said quietly.

"I certainly hope she never will, and that you will never think that she could."

"I mean I know people can make mistakes, fall out of love, change..." Anakin knew he himself had changed, and not for the better.

Obi-Wan squeezed his friend's shoulder. "She chose you instead of the legions of royal princes her family had lined up for her. There can be no doubt that she loves you." He rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Anakin, please, don't lose your faith in her. Take no notice of me."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Anakin felt removed, distanced from his own body, as if he were above, looking down on himself. Could this be what the Force had been trying to tell him all along? That Padmé was laughing at him behind his back, along with the rest of her family? That he really was worthless to her? An embarrassment? Is that why she didn't want to sleep with him? It all made horrible sense but he still couldn't believe it. Then again he trusted Obi-Wan more than anyone else, maybe even more than his wife. Obi-Wan wouldn't lie to him, neither would he warn him of something without good reason. In fact Anakin suspected there was even more here that Obi-Wan wasn't telling him.

When Padmé greeted him with a kiss Anakin found his back stiffening and his eyes searching her face for any clue that she might be deceiving him. Her smile was the same as it had been in the morning, her eyes just as brown and her lips just as pink. But somehow she looked different, and he realized that in a way she would never look the same again.


	9. Chapter 8

Dormé shivered a little, hugging the thick velvet coat closer around her body. The nights here were always cold and clear, the temperature dropping sharply once within a couple of hours of nightfall. Her footsteps were quiet on the stone steps as she made her way carefully down between abandoned houses towards her destination.

She knew what she was intending to do tonight was dangerous. Not because of the small carved wooden pendant hidden deep in her pocket - she didn't understand why Padmé was so fond of the worthless trinket anyway. She didn't know why Obi-Wan had pestered her to steal it either – he had refused to tell her and in truth, she didn't want to know. No, the act of theft was not the danger. She was confident enough that she wouldn't be caught.

Tonight the real danger was her intention to play Obi-Wan at his own game. She needed money, lots of money, if she was ever to buy her way out of the service of others. And, she had finally admitted to herself, she needed him, even if it was just for one night. His teasing in the courtyard yesterday had infuriated her. Why should he be the one to hold power over her?

She smiled to herself. If that was what he wanted, then let him believe it was what he was getting. She would be fine, as long as she could stay in control, mentally distant enough to retain her wits, whilst still enjoying the experience. Breathing calmly in an attempt to quell the nervous squirming in her stomach, she rounded the final corner and walked slowly along the dark alleyway towards his lodgings.

The small terrace of stone houses appeared to be deserted. She was looked back long the street, wondering if she had been mistaken about the location, when she suddenly felt herself shoved face-first against the rough stone wall, the hardness of cold metal pressed to the back of her neck.

"What do you want?" His voice was husky in her ear, and sent a shiver of anticipation down her neck and spine.

He was fast, she had to admit. And stealthy. But then, he was a Jedi. It was hardly impressive. Closing her eyes for a moment, she willed herself the final boost of courage to continue, then swallowed before speaking confidently.

"Three thousand credits."

His hands relaxed just enough to let her twist around to face him although she was still almost pinned to the wall by his physical presence. His lightsaber hilt glinted silver as he moved it away from her neck and clipped it back onto his belt. He ran his fingers through the blonde and copper of his hair, pushing the short strands back from his forehead, flicking his gaze down her body and then back up to her face.

"You flatter yourself milday." An infuriating sneer curled his lips.

Obi-Wan caught her wrist before the intended slap met its target, twisting it painfully above her head. His other hand reached for the blaster hidden under her coat before she had time to react, casually tossing it behind him to skitter along the stone surface. She cursed under her breath. He laughed.

"This is not a suitable place for a woman to wander alone at night," he said softly, tracing a line down the exposed skin of her throat. He moved an inch closer, his lips hovered above hers. "Unless fear excites her." She could smell the scent of spice and wine on his breath.

She looked up at him defiantly, giving in to her natural instinct not to show any reaction, either to the pain in her wrist or the sensations rocketing though her at the contact of his hand with her skin. His eyes were a dark, emerald green, just as she had thought they would be.

Even Obi-Wan was, to a certain extent, predictable. She had known perfectly well that he would find her before she got to his lodgings, that he would catch her wrist when she tried to slap him, and then casually disarm her. She knew that right now he was revelling the power he thought he had over her. That she was _allowing_ him to have over her.

She tilted her chin up, ghosting her lips over his, soft and wet, subtly teasing him just as he had teased her. Then she moved her mouth over the stubble of his cheek to his ear.

"I have what you desire," she whispered huskily.

"Hmm,.. well perhaps we can negotiate." He chuckled, slowly and deliberately undoing the top buttons of her coat, pulling it open to reveal the flimsy white material of her nightgown. Heavy eyelids drifting shut, she tried to fight for control over the sensation of his touch. Her wrist was still twisted above her head, the pressure of his grip sending the occasional arc of pain down her arm and back. His other hand moved to caress her breast through the thin material. Although every nerve ending in her body was screaming at her to let him continue, she knew that at any moment he would stop, taking away the pleasure and leaving only the pain.

With all the willpower remaining in her body, she pushed away his hand and pulled her coat around her again, fixing him with a determined look so that when she spoke he would know that she meant it.

"No," she said firmly.

She wished she could capture the expression of surprise on his face and remember it forever. Smiling inwardly, she composed her face into an expression of innocence before continuing, "you misunderstand me."

He looked down at her, eyes flashing in anger, asking silently what the hell she was talking about. She just smiled back sweetly before answered.

"I have it. I have Padmé's pendant"

Within seconds he had propelled her inside the doorway.

"Where?" He demanded.

She laughed. "Like I said. Three thousand credits. In advance."

Of course, she knew he could take it from her for nothing, if he wanted. Did he also know that she would give it to him willingly for just one long, sensuous kiss from those seductive lips? Possibly. But right now she was enjoying the game that they were playing. She stood confidently, arms folded, waiting for an answer.

Silently, he walked over to a small wooden dresser, opening a drawer and taking something out. He threw it across to her, and as she caught it she felt the weight of the cold object in her hands. Iridium. A precious metal, and by her estimation about a thousand credits' worth. Two thousand credits short. She raised an eyebrow.

He stalked back over to her, a mixture of anger and predation on his face. She instinctively reaching out to steady herself, feeling the texture of carved wood beneath her fingers.

"End of negotiations," he said menacingly as he reached her.

She smiled at him again, tucking the object into her coat pocket, half wishing she had not actually brought the pendant with her, just to see his expression.

But of course, she had brought it, and of course, she wasn't just going to give it to him. She waited. After a moment's pause he pushed her roughly against the bed post, sliding his hands inside her coat, pinning her with his stare whilst he searched her thinly-clothed body with his hands.

The hidden pocket was level with her hip and he found it all too quickly. Before she knew it he was walking away again and she was watching him study the carved wooden object carefully, her skin still flushed from the brief but intoxicating contact.

She watched and waited. After several long, silent minutes to he was still completely ignoring her.

She realised that despite her best efforts, he obviously didn't need her as much as she needed him.

Perhaps he didn't need her at all.

He stood facing the dark window, turning the object slowly in his hands.

"Obi-Wan…" She wouldn't let him dismiss her like this.

He glanced around, shooting her a disdainful look. _Gods_, she thought, _he really is_ _an utter bastard…_

"You can leave now," he said coldly, with a little dismissive wave of his fingers.

Instead she walked towards him, not fearful now, just angry. She was determined to get a reaction from him, whatever it took.

"What the hell happened to you Obi-Wan? Why are you like this?" She had intended her tone to be mocking, but when the words came out they sounded rather too genuine. She reached out, gently touching his shoulder. He winced, pushing her hand away. With that tiny gesture she felt the ice surrounding her heart melting just a little bit.

She decided in that moment that she wouldn't walk away until he had touched her. Let him believe she was feeble, completely under his spell, whatever he wanted to believe. She wasn't going to leave and let him win.

"I need you Obi-Wan. I'm not going to leave. Please-" she wasn't even sure herself now whether she was acting or telling the truth.

She watched as he turned round slowly, his eyes piercing her, grey-green, a flash of something black and haunting, then dead.

Reaching forward he carefully fastened the pendant around her neck, then with a gesture that seemed almost tender, her began to arrange her hair, pulling a few ringlets to fall loosely around her face.

What was he doing? Making her look like-?

Then she realised. Padmé. So this was all about Padmé. He'd never needed her, nor desired her. It was all a sickening fantasy about what he wanted to do to his best friend's beautiful wife. The woman fortune had made her resemble, closely enough to be her security double.

She watched him notice the recognition on her face and smiled. It was a cruel, vindictive smile. She was just trying to decide whether now would be a good time to leave when he kissed her.

It was not the slow, sensual kiss she would have paid a fortune for, but it was still worth a few thousand credits. He kissed her deeply, powerfully and possessively. His hands slid though her hair, pulling her closer until her body was flush with his.

She felt dizzy, as if she was falling, or flying, or dreaming, or all three at once.

Then suddenly he pulled away, spinning her around and steering her towards the bed, pushing her face-down on to the soft surface.

She waiting, longingly, for the imminent contact with his body but there was nothing.

"Please, Obi-Wan," she hardly recognised her own voice, low and desperate.

He laughed, pinning her hands forward and she struggled, not to get free but to touch him, to get any kind of contact with him.

"Please what?" This voice was harsh and husky in her ear.

"Please-"

He laughed, sliding her nightgown up, exposing the bare skin of her thighs, buttocks and lower back.

A calloused hand stroked down her spine slowly. She moaned.

It was then that she heard the faint hum of ignition she usually associated with a lightsaber. Confused, she watched an eery red glow spread into the darkened room. She tried to lift her head up to see behind her but now she couldn't move at all.

Then she felt something cold and hard in the small of her back. His fingers moved to trail along her side. Through the haze of desire, she suddenly felt much more afraid than she had ever done before. She could have convinced herself that everything up to this point was part of a game. Suddenly she was out of her depth.

"Shhh. Just relax." his voice was not in her ear this time, but came from directly behind her.

It was then that she felt an excruciating pain in her back followed by the smell of burning flesh, and finally her own scream.

She was only vaguely aware of the soft press of lips to the back of her neck and footsteps followed the faint clunk of a door shutting before she passed out.


	10. Chapter 9

Dormé trailed her fingers slowly through the surface of the water in the bath tub. Judging the temperature to be about right, she reached across to the wall, shutting off the stream flowing from the rusting tap. The grey stone bath was almost completely full. To use such an amount for bathing was an extravagance - on Tarrabba fresh water was a rarity and carefully rationed. But this evening she didn't care about rations or wastage. Right now she craved the warmth and soothing comfort only a deep bath could provide.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since her encounter with Obi-Wan and she still hadn't had chance to fully comprehend what had happened between them. After passing out on his bed she had woken, some time later, alone. It was still dark and although she was cold and shaky she had managed to dress herself and make her way back to the courtyard house before anyone had noticed her absence. There had been no sign of Obi-Wan. After spending several hours awake lying in her bed under many layers of blankets, desperately trying to warm her chilled body, she must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next morning she had been woken at dawn by the sound of Padmé and Anakin arguing. Lying in her bed she had listened numbly to the sound of their voices – although too muffled for her to make out words, the antagonistic mood of their conversation was quite clear. As memories of the previous night resurfaced, she had wondered for a moment if the events could have been some sort of horrible dream. Lying there she had relived every tortuous moment, the stiffness and ache in her back reminding her that it had been very real. What exactly had Obi-Wan done to her? At least that was a question she would be able to answer, once she had the courage to look. Other questions - why he had done it, and who, or what, he really was, had lingered half-formed in the periphery of her consciousness.

The green shutters at the bathroom window were closed. Just a glimmer of orange evening sunlight filtered through into the small bathroom, reflecting from the scratched and discoloured mirror that hung on the opposite wall. Dormé walked across to it and studied her reflection. Her hair, thick and coarse compared to Padmé's, although an almost identical dark brown, fell about her shoulders in thick waves. Her complexion, normally a shade of tanned olive, was pale, and the skin under her eyes was dark and puffy.

_The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,_

_Sing all a green willow._

The senator's soft, lilting voice filtered through the cracked panels of the ancient door. Dormé smiled a little. In the next room Padmé was singing.

_Her hand on her bosom her head on her knee,_

_Sing willow, willow, willow…_

It was a habit of the senator's, almost a ritual, to sing every evening at sunset whilst tidying her living room. She had done it on Coruscant too. Dormé had not failed to appreciate that Padmé continued the practice on Tarrabba -it brought a small sense of the comfort of home to their modest surroundings. Typical of Padmé, she thought, to unconsciously bring comfort to others with just the simplest of actions. Usually Padmé chose one of a handful of Nabooian folk songs, but this evening the song was different. Dormé could not remember hearing it before.

Focusing back on the present, Dormé undid the small buttons of her pale blue dress with trembling fingers. All day she had kept busy, too afraid to look for the evidence of whatever physical injury Obi-Wan had inflicted upon her. But now it was time to find out. The cotton fell with a quiet rustle to her feet, followed quickly by her thin white petticoat and matching briefs. She stepped away from the pile of fabric and, taking a deep breath, turned her body away from the mirror, holding eye contact with her reflection for a few seconds before lowering her eyes to study her lower back.

She had expected to see a wound – a burn mark perhaps, or the dark gash of a bloodied cut. But at first glance she saw nothing. Moving her head slightly to avoid the worst blotched of corrosion on the mirror she finally saw the markings – a curling pattern of red lines and symbols that covered a small patch at the base of her spine. Wrapping an arm around her body she could just reach the affected patch of skin with her fingertips. There was no pain from the contact but her eyes widened in shock.

She recognised the pattern. The same design was inscribed in black ink on the skin of her lover.

And now, in a flash, she recalled its meaning.

When she had first noticed the motif on Obi-Wan's hip she had a vague sense of familiarity, but it was only seeing it marking her own body that she realised where she had seen it before. She had been ten, or maybe eleven years old. Even then she had been allowed to work in her father's cantina every evening. It was no place for a young girl, but her father allowed her many freedoms others would have considered inappropriate, and she was very persuasive. Thinking back, Dormé remembered the tall, black-clothed, black-haired stranger vividly. He had eyes as green as emeralds and an elaborate black tattoo adorned his left cheek. That night he had slain three bounty hunters with a single ruthless sweep of a vermilion blade. She had got the impression her father had known who the man was although she could not remember his name. But she did recall her father's fearful expression as he whispered the name of the mysterious design marking the man's face.

_Diabolus subcripto. _The mark of the Sith

_The Sith_. An ancient order of warriors, if she remembered correctly, supposedly extinct, but at one time feared greatly by the Jedi for indulging in violence and cruelty and encouraging passion, hatred and fear, practices and emotions entirely alien to the selfless, peace-loving Jedi Order.

So that was Obi-Wan's secret.

What did he have in mind with all his deception? The downfall of the entire Jedi Order? She wouldn't be surprised if that were true. Quite frankly it was not something that concerned her. She had long considered all religions to be both hypocritical and a waste of time. The Jedi were no exception. If they could be deceived by one of their own, then they were not only hypocrites but fools too.

However, the thought that Obi-Wan needed a belief system, albeit twisted, was slightly comforting. She could not believe a single thing he had told her, but here was a fact about him that was difficult to dispute. After her abject and humiliating experience of the previous night, at least it was something about him that she could consider a weakness.

The stone floor was warm under her feet as she walked across to the bath tub. With a sigh she slipped into the steaming water, ignoring the splash as some overflowed onto the stone floor and sinking right up to her neck in its comforting warmth. Her thoughts lingered on Obi-Wan. Why did she still want to understand him? Had she not learned from her mistakes? Why could she not banish him from her mind, after what he had done to her? She should despise him. Instead, her emotions were like a void, blank, empty, unfeeling. Maybe she did hate him, but she was still too shocked to feel it. What he had done to her was cruel, demeaning and unforgivable. But she would not waste time and energy on revenge. Self preservation had always been her priority and it would remain so. From now on she would avoid him, in sight, in speech, and in mind, for it would only be a short time before he would be out of her life forever.

According to Bail, they had only one day remaining on Tarrabba. The military occupation was over and all forces, save for a skeleton crew remaining to man the Republic supply base, were scheduled to leave the system following night at midnight. In less than forty-eight hours they would be back on Coruscant.

But Dormé would not. She had no intention of going back to the galactic capital.

In the middle of such a large military operation, it should be relatively easy for her to slip away onto one of the many small service ships leaving to collect Republic personnel from the systems of the Outer Rim. It might be a matter of chance as to where she would end up, but she was fairly sure that if she laid low for a couple of months everyone would forget about her. Then with the valuables she had acquired from Padmé in addition to the iridium she had obtained from Obi-Wan she should have enough money to buy her own small second-hand ship. With the end of the war the market for illegal trade should open right up again and she would be perfectly placed to take advantage of the potential for smuggling. Finally she would have bought the freedom she had dreamt of since she had left home at seventeen – the freedom for her, and only her, to be in control of her own life. In forty-eight hours Padmé, Bail, Anakin, and even Obi-Wan would be back on Coruscant, but Dormé would be free.

In the adjacent room, Padmé was still singing the same, sad song.

_The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her moans,_

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

_Her salt tears fell from her and softened the stones,_

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

_Lay by these, willow…_

Dormé dipped below the surface of the water to rinse her hair, cutting out the sound of the senator's voice. From the small snatches of conversations she had heard, and the general air of tension between husband and wife, she knew Padmé's short marriage to Anakin was not the romantic fairytale her employer had been expecting. She felt a little sorry for Padmé, sweet, beautiful Padmé, who only ever thought well of people, who had waited for years, going against the wishes of all her family, to be with the man she truly loved. If anyone deserved to live happily ever after it was Padmé.

Dormé let her body float the surface of the water, relishing the freshness of the cool air on her face before sitting up to ring the water from her hair. She had always been cynical about the senator's apparent sincerity but over the past few days the isolation of their situation had brought them closer, almost to the point of friendship. Despite her better judgement Dormé had grown to enjoy their light-hearted conversations, and had been surprised at how much they had in common despite their wildly differing upbringings. Above all, she had realised, to her surprise, that Padmé genuinely was exactly the open-hearted and generous person she appeared to be.

Deep in her heart Dormé felt a twinge of regret. Not for the material objects she had stolen from the senator, but for the act of taking them, which was starting to feel something like betrayal. Ironically, now that it was too late, she realised that Padmé would probably have given her the money she needed if only she had asked. She was taken completely by surprise at the revelation, the emotional response it triggered in her, and by the single tear that rolled down her cheek to land in the now lukewarm water.

In her bedchamber, Padmé sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. She was confused, alarmed and worried about Anakin. He had lost his temper with her earlier in the day and she had had no idea why. She had always considered herself good at understanding people, and she certainly thought she knew her husband. Earlier, and in a jovial fashion in an attempt to lighten the mood, she had merely put forward the suggestion of Anakin supporting Bail's application to be the Senate's representative on the Jedi Council. She had expected Anakin to agree without question – Bail was a good friend and an excellent diplomat. But spontaneously, Anakin's mood seemed to have darkened. Foolishly, she had kept on talking, filling the silence, whilst her husband had just stood looking out of the window with a frown, one hand rubbing his temple. Then suddenly he had flown into a rage, spinning around and squeezing her arms painfully, shouting in her face to leave him alone before storming out of the room.

She could only think it was the pressure of promotion to the Council that been the root cause of his mood, on top of his exhaustion from battle, and that her mention of Palpatine's plotting was the trigger of his outburst. After all, Anakin disliked and distrusted the Supreme Chancellor intensely. If only she could get him to talk to her about it…

Still, there were only two days to go before they would be back on Coruscant, back home, in familiar surroundings, living, finally, together. She only hoped that when they left Tarrabba they would also leave behind this disturbing, angry side of Anakin that she had never witnessed before. Then they could make a fresh start to their marriage and to the rest of their lives together.

_Prithee, hie thee, he'll come anon,_

_Sing all a green willow must be my garland._

_Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,_

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

_I called my love false, but what said he then?_

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

In a quiet voice she finished the sad song. She was suprised how easily the lyrics came to her she had not heard it since she was a child. It was a song of hopeless love, a song her maid used to sing. She had always thought it tragic and beautiful, and it suited her melancholy mood tonight.

Padmé put her hairbrush down, gathered her robe around her and slipped between the blankets of her bed. It was only early evening, but she was tired and the extra sleep would do her good.

As the former Queen of Naboo drifted off into slumber the final words of the song echoed on her lips.

_I called my love false, but what said he then?_

_Sing willow, willow, willow._

* * *

A/N: Willow Song lyrics by William Shakespeare from the play "Othello" 


	11. Chapter 10

Anakin hurried down the stone steps of the path to the lower part of the city of Tirith, a determined frown marking his handsome face. As he walked he blinked repeatedly, trying to rid the dryness from his eyes. How many nights had it been since he had last slept properly? Four, he thought, although it may have been more, the current state of disorientation was such that he could not be certain. The stone flags felt spongy beneath his feet, his neck was stiff and his head weighed thick and heavy. In a few short days his whole world had been turned upside down. He felt sick, he couldn't eat, he was on edge and he was constantly in a battle with his own anger. All because the central focus of his life had been thrown into doubt.

Padmé had been his sunshine, the air in his lungs, and the smile on his face, but not any more. Now she was his greatest torment. Could his wife really be deceiving him and having an affair with Bail Organa? There were moments when he still found it impossible to believe. He had trusted Padmé with his heart and soul for three years, but he had trusted Obi-Wan, as mentor and friend, for more than thirteen. And if he looked objectively at his situation Obi-Wan's suspicions certainly made sense. Padmé came from an ancient and noble family and Bail Organa of Alderaan would be a match of which they would greatly approve. Over the past days the nauseating thought that Bail may have slept with his wife had been his constant, sicking companion, whispering to him at every opportunity, taunting him with every word the Aldeeranian senator exchanged with Padmé, and with every smile she bestowed upon him.

Anakin felt as if he were flitting between two realities – one, light and beautiful, in which he had always thought his future would lie, his beautiful wife by his side, giving him the strength to overcome his weaknesses and be a great Jedi; the other dark, sinister and dreamlike, in which the entire Galaxy mocked him, Padmé casually betrayed him, and dark thoughts and fantasies tempted him. Horrible waking dreams flourished in moments of anger - the look of horror on Bail's face as a blue blade sliced through his torso; Padmé laughing vindictively, her family and the Jedi Council standing behind; his own fingers wrapped around her white throat, squeezing out her life to satisfy his anger - enraged, molten and dark. Echoes of these dreams haunted him too once the anger had faded. It was not as if Anakin thought he was perfect - he knew his temper, in particular, was a great weakness. In the past he had made grave mistakes in moments of anger, mistakes he had kept secret through guilt and shame. But these previous outbursts had always been spontaneous. What kind of man was he, to allow these horrible events to occur, even as fantasies? And what kind of Jedi was he, if he could not withold the dangerous emotions he had always been taught to suppress?

Was this the dark side of the Force? If so it was nothing like he expected. The negative emotions he was feeling seemed to come from him and him alone, not some unseen and sinister Force. He knew the strange dream he'd had held answers somehow. In his dream - of a dark and oddly beautiful landscape - his forbidden emotions had made perfect sense. He had always thought the dark side would feel menacing, but it had not been like that at all. In his dream at least, it was seductively comforting. He had always been taught of the terror of the dark side, of the pain and suffering it could bring. But right now he simply needed to _understand_ what he was feeling. If his emotions were too strong to be repressed, how harmful would it be to ignore them? If only he were back on Coruscant, where he could search the archives for this _Potentium Principle_ Obi-Wan had mentioned. His strength in the Force surpassed the other living Jedi in almost all respects. Could it be that he was perceiving some greater truth? That the dark side was really just part of the greater Force, and could been felt and used for comfort, to help deal with negative emotions, to understand those feelings the Jedi discouraged, through fear?

He had not admitted these heretical thoughts to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was like a blinding light in the Force, not a hint of darkness, no hate, no jealousy, no fear. Obi-Wan had experienced Anakin's quick temper himself but Anakin had never dared admit those terrible mistakes – the slaughter of the Sand People, the death of Count Dooku – to his former Master. There was no way that Obi-Wan could understand what he had done. But now Obi-Wan was his only anchor, the only constant in his life. Maybe it would be better to be truthful, to confess his secrets and ask his friend for help. Obi-Wan had never judged him before, why would he now?

Anakin descended the final steps two at a time, turning away from the harbour and through the gateway that led to the city's lower district. He glanced upward to the fading pink of the sky. It would be dark soon. Instinctively, he fingered the lapel of his shirt, the place where his comlink was normally attached. Whenever he was on Coruscant he would always com Padmé at nightfall, just to hear her voice. But tonight his fingers found only rough cloth. He had mislaid his comlink, of all things. In fact this was the reason for his excursion tonight – to be briefed by Obi-Wan on the latest military protocols. The loss of the communication device had been the trigger of his earlier argument with Padmé. He knew she must have hidden it, even though she had denied his accusation. He felt a sickening wrench in his gut as he realised she was all but alone, right now, with Bail, who for some reason she had insisted remain at their lodgings. At that very moment Bail could be in her bed, taking the place that was rightfully Anakin's. His stomach heaved at the thought, and he couldn't help but retch, stooping to lean against the clammy stone wall and vomit into the gutter. Breathing hard, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting the horrid bitterness of bile from his empty stomach.

Enough. That was enough.

He knew Obi-Wan was hiding something. There was obviously more to his suspicions about Padmé than Obi-Wan had admitted. Anakin could not stand it any longer. He needed to know the truth, no matter how gruesome. If Padmé was betraying him, he would not be made a fool of any longer. He was going to get the truth out of Obi-Wan, even if it took all night.

He made the rest of the journey through the maze of narrow alleyways in efficient strides, his booted footfalls echoing off the stone walls. Behind the crumbling city buildings, the black mountains loomed menacingly. The red sun was finally sinking behind them as he turned the corner into the street in which Obi-Wan's lodgings were situated.

Standing by a large wooden armoire, Obi-Wan studied the small object held in the palm of his hand. Opening a drawer he casually dropped the communication device inside and pushed the drawer closed with an index finger. Closing his eyes and reaching out into the Force, he sensed Anakin was only minutes away, and, moreover, that the young man's emotions were clearly in turmoil. He smiled in satisfaction. He had infected the boy with nothing more than ideas, but already they were burying into Anakin's mind like poisonous vyper worms, infecting the young man's blood more efficiently than any natural parasite could. Obi-Wan could feel it in the Force: Anakin was already changing.

Obi-Wan glanced quickly about the room, checking there was nothing on view he did not want Anakin to see. Satisfied that all was in order, he pulled out a chair sat down at his small desk, activating his datapad and scrolling through screens of military bulletins, waiting for the imminent knock on his door.

"Come in." Obi-Wan's voice was muffled by the thick timber. Anakin pushed the door open, the hinges creaking a somewhat sinister welcome. Obi-Wan looked up from his work and smiled. "I hope you don't mind me just finishing up here? I'll only be a few minutes."

Anakin nodded and walked past him to the small seating area by the window, his skin prickling with irritation. Actually he did mind. He could barely wait a second longer to question Obi-Wan about Padmé. He slumped down in an upholstered chair, resting his head back against the soft surface and closing his eyes. His eyelids felt like sandpaper. He tried to let his mind drift but it refused, torturing him instead with images of Bail and Padmé together, exchanging secret glances that they thought he did not notice…

"Are you alright Anakin? You look awful."

Anakin snapped his eyes back open. He watched Obi-Wan place a mug of steaming tea in front of him on the small table. "Not exactly," he replied coldly.

Obi-Wan sat in the seat opposite, an expression of concern on his face. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Because she could be with _him_, right now…"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Oh no, Anakin, not that."

Anakin's temper flared. He held a finger up and pointed it at Obi-Wan. "Don't you say that. _You_ were the one that started this. I'd rather not have known about it at all than know the little you told me."

"I'm sorry." Obi-Wan replied, rather indignantly.

"Can you even understand what it's like for me?" Anakin rose to his feet and began pacing the room. "It's as if I'm being tortured. I don't recognise myself, I have all these terrible thoughts... thoughts not fit for a Jedi, I can't even tell you what I have imagined, the worst, jealous, hate-filled thoughts. This is the end of me, Obi-Wan, the Chosen One, the Hero with No Fear…" he laughed derisively. "Right now, I can tell you I am _full_ of fear. Fear at what I'm capable of. I've never been so scared in all my life." He looked down. His hands were shaking, not with fear now but with the rage that was rising in him.

"Really? That's strange." Obi-Wan's casual tone was infuriating.

In a second Anakin had Force-pushed the chair in which Obi-Wan was sitting back against the wall, and was crouched in front of him, pinning him by the chest with a single hand. "Proof. I need proof." He spat the words into Obi-Wan's face. "You'd better be able to prove my wife is a whore, or I guarantee you will regret it." Anakin's eyes flashed in anger.

Obi-Wan's expression was not one of panic at the violence of his friend's attack, but one of apparent sorrow at the meaning behind it. He looked down at Anakin's hand then back up to meet the intense gaze of his former pupil. "Oh Anakin, has it come to this?" He asked quietly.

Anakin's jaw clenched. He increased the pressure to Obi-Wan's chest, enjoying the sight of Obi-Wan wincing in pain. Drawing his face even closer to Obi-Wan's, he lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. "If you are lying, just to torment me, then you may as well go ahead and commit every crime in the galaxy. Nothing, absolutely nothing you could possibly imagine, would be a greater evil."

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed angrily. Anakin registered briefly that his former Master's legendary patience had obviously run out. Obi-Wan shoved Anakin's arm to the side irritably and rose from his chair, walked over to the window, grasping the sill in one hand and using the other to rub his forehead. "Then Force forgive me." His voice was loud and sarcastic. He turned around slowly. "That you could possibly conceive I would lieto you after all we have been through together…" he waved his hand dismissively, not making eye contact with the Anakin but walking towards and then past him. "Goodnight Anakin, I will see you back on Coruscant no doubt, but before then, I would rather we had no contact." He paused without looking back, his hand on the door. "I just cannot…" He shook his head. "You are like my brother Anakin." His voice started to crack. "Please forgive me for simply being honest with you." He began to open the door.

Anakin's anger dissolved in an instant as he heard the emotion in Obi-Wan's voice. How could he ever think his closest friend would lie to him? Of all things he could not bear to lose Obi-Wan's friendship now. He started to panic. "No, wait!" He called out urgently.

Obi-Wan paused, halfway out of the door. Only the darkness of the night sky was witness to the brief smile that flashed across his face.

"You _should_ be honest with me." Anakin pleaded, striding quickly across the room and placing a hand on Obi-Wan's hunched shoulder.

"I should be wiser than that." Obi-Wan gave a short, indignant laugh.

"I'm sorry, Master, I shouldn't have yelled at you." Anakin pulled insistently on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Reluctantly, the older Jedi turned around. Anakin was shocked at the expression of pain in Obi-Wan's eyes and he quickly found tears pooling in his own. "I didn't mean it. I just… I just can't stand not being certain. It's… it's killing me." Feeling weak Anakin leant back against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position and hugging his knees to his chest. The tears were streaming down his face now, suspicion, jealousy and disgust overwhelming him in waves. In an instant Obi-Wan was kneeling by his side.

"Shhh. I regret ever mentioning anything about it," he said softly, his hand reaching to brush Anakin's cheek gently. Anakin sniffed. "It's too late for that. Now I need proof, and I'm going to get it." He wiped his face with the back of his hands. "Gods, Obi-Wan, what is happening to me?" He looked up at Obi-Wan desperately.

In a single motion, Obi-Wan pulled the younger man towards him, cradling him as he had to the nine-year-old Anakin Skywalker, homesick, cold, and afraid of the dark. Anakin relaxed against his friend's body, resting the damp curls of his blonde head against Obi-Wan's chest.

Obi-Wan waited silently for a couple of breaths before speaking quietly. "But how will you get proof? Are you going to hide and watch them in bed together?"

"Oh Gods…" Anakin's shaking hand gripped the lapel of Obi-Wan's military jacket.

"Shhh…" Obi-Wan stroked his hair soothingly. Anakin smelled of salt and sweat and fear. "It would be very difficult to arrange for them to sleep together while you watched, but if someone were to witness them, that would be your proof. Even if they are so blinded by lust that they are enjoying each other's bodies every night, they will take some care to guard against you catching them in the act." He felt Anakin shudder in horror against his chest, the shudder triggering a throb of pleasure in his own. He had to concentrate to keep his voice controlled. "What else then, would count as your proof?" He asked gently. "We should be able to find other evidence, circumstantial, perhaps, but damning nonetheless."

The younger Jedi raised his head to look directly up into Obi-Wan's eyes. "Just give me one reason to think it's true Obi-Wan. Just one."


	12. Chapter 11

Anakin raised his head to look directly up into Obi-Wan's eyes. "Just give me one reason to think it's true Obi-Wan. Just one."

Obi-Wan returned his gaze, blue-grey eyes flicking back and forth across Anakin's face as if weighing up a silent decision. "All right," he said with a resigned sigh. "I do not like to do this but since we have got this far…" He reached down, removing Anakin's hands from his shirt, squeezing them for a moment before disentangling himself from Anakin limbs to stand up and step away.

Anakin watched from his seated position on the floor, too drained and exhausted to do anything but wait for his friend to speak.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Oh for Force's sake Anakin," he said irritably, "will you come over here and sit on a chair, it's freezing over there and you can't stay on the floor all night." He looked down at his feet, anxiously rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand.

Slowly, Anakin stood up on shaky legs and walked back over to the centre of the room. "Just tell me, Obi-Wan."

With head still bowed , Obi-Wan began speaking. "Did you ever see Padmé wearing a wooden pendant? A simple carved thing, some sort of lucky charm?"

"Yes, it was the first gift I gave to her - on Tatooine, when we first met." Anakin had carved the Jappor Snippet himself, all those years ago. Padmé had told him she had worn it every day they were apart.

Obi-Wan looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, well I didn't know that, but this morning I saw such a pendant, I'm sure it was Padmé's, around Bail's neck."

Anakin froze. Had he misheard? He replayed Obi-Wan's words in his mind. _Around Bail's neck_. She had given his gift, the secret token of their love, to that pathetic, eager-to-please, slimy politician? How could Padmé do such a thing? How _dare_ she?

"…and if it was then the evidence is quite damning," Obi-Wan was saying.

Another wave of nausea swept through Anakin's body, the now familiar resonance of anger starting to hum in his veins again. Was it her intention to humiliate him? Did Bail and Padmé joke about him when they were alone? And Bail – how _dare_ he do this? Did he not understand who Anakin was? _What_ he was? Anakin felt his heart start to beat erratically, his vision beginning to tunnel. Instinctively, he clenched his fists, desperately trying to find his centre – to stabilise himself and release his emotions into the Force.

From his position by the window, Obi-Wan watched his former apprentice in fascination. The dark side of the Force swirled around Anakin like a vortex, intense and mesmerising. Obi-Wan had not perceived its effect on Anakin from this proximity before. The dark power resonated in Obi-Wan's body, the thrill that accompanied the knowledge of its origin making him feel more alive than he had in many years. He watched, captivated, as Anakin struggled, shaking, trying desperately to release his anger into the light side of the Force, unaware that with a subtle touch of his mind Obi-Wan was preventing the tendrils of light from even reaching him, and in fact was magnifying and reflecting Anakin's own anger back into the young man's tormented body.

The air around Anakin crackled audibly with energy - an echo of the intense electrical storm taking place in the Force. Then suddenly the room was filled with the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass as the coffee table in front of Obi-Wan exploded in all directions, glass cups falling to smash on the stone floor. Anakin cried out in frustration and panic. Where had the Force gone? He had reached out in a desperate attempt to meditate but instead of its soothing calm he had felt nothing but his own anger, directed even more ferociously back at him, building and building until he'd had to let it go, wildly and randomly focusing it on the safest thing he could find in his debilitated state – deafened, numbed, and half-blinded by rage.

But now, in an instant, the fireball that had been his anger had gone. As he struggled to recover his breath, Anakin noticed Obi-Wan, who had jumped back in a millisecond to avoid the debris, was stood watching him intensely.

"Did you feel that?" Anakin asked shakily. He desperately needed Obi-Wan to react, to judge him, reprimand him, whatever - any reaction that acknowledged what he felt would lift the unbearable burden of his secret weaknesses.

Obi-Wan looked back at him solemnly. "Yes Anakin, I did."

"It - it was the dark side, wasn't it?"

Obi-Wan smiled nervously. "It was only a table. I believe you have destroyed much more valuable objects before."

Anakin frowned. Why was Obi-Wan trivialising this? He was close enough to have felt everything that just happened, and would have recognised what Anakin had tried, and failed to do. Was Obi-Wan frightened of him, just as he was frightened of himself? Or was he trying to deny it, just as Anakin had done to himself? Either way, it was no use - he needed to confess everything, right now, to force the other man to react, to help him. Obi-Wan was his only hope of salvation. "That's not what I meant." He said quietly. "Obi-Wan, something's happening. I'm not the Jedi I should be."

Obi-Wan brushed fragments of debris off a chair and sat down facing Anakin. "Padawan, it is normal to have doubts, even as a Knight. Even as a Master." He indicated the opposite chair with an outstretched hand. "Tell me."

Anakin walked over and sat down, leaning forward, elbows balanced on knees, and rubbed his forehead with the fingers of both hands. "When I blew up at you before," he said, "and what happened just then… that was not the first time I've lost control." He looked down at the floor. The puddles of tea, spilt when the cups had shattered, were starting to dry, leaving stains on the stone tiles. He tried to focus on the abstract patterns, red on grey, simultaneously trying to focus his spiralling thoughts. This was his only chance. He must talk to Obi-Wan right now, before he lost his nerve.

He inhaled a deep breath and let it out again, then, not looking up until he had finished, he recounted everything. In a cascade of relief the words flooded from his lips like water from a breached dam: Every life he had taken in a moment of anger, every triumphant feeling of satisfaction that had faded coldly into shame and regret, how he had kept his mistakes a secret, too ashamed even to admit them to Obi-Wan, how the secrecy had plagued him, and how recently his state of mind had deteriorated. He spoke of the blackness that he felt surrounding him, his fears, jealousy, and anger eclipsing everything, until he couldn't remember feeling anything else. And finally he spoke of the dream he had had, and how he had wondered at the possibly truth in the _Potentium Principle_ Obi-Wan spoke of, and how he needed answers, or help, or just something, to tell him what the hell was happening to him, because right now murderous thoughts were flowing through him like a river of blood and he really felt like he wanted to kill someone, and enjoy doing it.

When Anakin finally fell silent there was no immediate response from Obi-Wan. He listened for what felt like minutes to nothing but the harsh sounds of his own breathing and the thump of his pulse echoing in his ears. He finally dared to look up, anticipating his former Master's reaction - horror, shock, sadness, betrayal…? But he saw none of those things. Instead there was just a hint of sympathy in blue-grey eyes that appraised him with their normal, characteristic tranquillity.

"Are you not surprised?" Anakin asked in bewilderment.

Obi-Wan smiled gently in response but remained silent.

An unexpected truth dawned on Anakin. "You _knew_?"

"About those incidents, yes, many of them." Obi-Wan replied. "About your current state of mind, I had some idea but I was not aware of your fear of these feelings."

"Why did you not say anything?" Anakin couldn't believe it.

"I thought you would tell me when you were ready." Obi-Wan placed his fingertips together, watching Anakin carefully. "Which you have."

"And are you not horrified, at what I've become? At how I've failed you?" A small seed of optimism was forming in Anakin's distraught brain. Could it be possible that Obi-Wan was going to tell him everything was OK? That there was some explanation for all of these feelings, some way out?

"No, I am not horrified."

"Then what should I do?" He asked with a hint of desperation.

"Anakin I am not here to provide you with all the answers. Only you can do that. But you must trust your instincts. Remember, you are the Chosen One."

"Are you saying I should go against Jedi teachings and follow these… feelings?"

"I think it is too late to deny them."

"But this hate, jealousy, and fear that I feel. Everything I have learned, everything you taught me, says that it wrong."

"Anakin I think you realise now that the nature of the Force is far more complex than orthodox Jedi teachings imply. Yes, Padawans are taught to suppress these feelings, as you were, it is easier for everyone if we do not suffer these complex emotions in the first place, and it suits the Jedi Order to operate on that assumption. But you are a Master now, you must decide what on your own understanding of the Force and how you act upon it."

"What? Are you saying I should give in to these feelings?"

"Many Force users in the past would advocate that approach."

"Jedi?"

"No, not Jedi."

"Who then?"

"Dark Jedi, other Force-sensitives, the Sith, very many beings in fact."

"The Sith? But were they not evil?"

"Evil is often relative, Anakin."

"How? Murder is evil."

"Is it? How many lives did you take in the name of the Republic in your battle with Grievous? Was that evil? How is that different from taking a single life – the life of someone so despicable as to betray you in the worst way possible - to satisfy your own perfectly natural feelings?"

Anakin could not deny that Obi-Wan's reasoning was logical. In the past he would have probably countered such an argument quickly, speaking of morality, of the greater good, and of the Jedi values of selflessness, of humanity and unconditional love – values which he believed in. Which he _had_ believed in. Those values, he now realised, had been stripped away, along with his dignity, when his wife betrayed him with Bail Organa. Now he struggled to believe in anything but his own feelings, and his own desires. And those desires were focused on – but Obi-Wan could not possibly be condoning…

"Are… Are you saying I should kill Bail?" He asked shakily.

"You should do what you think you need to do."

Anakin groaned, placed his aching head back in his hands, rubbing his temples. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as Obi-Wan rose from his seat and stepped quietly over to kneel at his side, smoothing the unruly hair back from his forehead with a gentle hand. Anakin turned his head to meet his friend's concerned gaze. "There are moments when I have wanted to Obi-Wan, I have so desperately wanted to," he admitted, another wave of relief washing over him. It felt so good to be able to say it. Anxiously, he searched Obi-Wan's face for a reaction.

The older man's expression grew grave, a flush of pink spreading from his cheeks to his neck. "Be careful, Anakin. You may regret it."

But Anakin knew that he would not. Everything was falling into place. He would do anything now, to stop the torment. If that meant killing Bail, then that was exactly what he needed to do. Just like the feeble wooden table that shattered a few moments ago to appease his temper, the life of that deceitful scoundrel of a politician would have to be extinguished to quell the raging fire of jealousy and hate that burned in the pit of his stomach.

"No, you were right," he said quietly. "I need revenge. These feelings will continue to plague me until it is satisfied. I - I only hope I can go through with it." A flicker of doubt passed across his mind. Yes, he had taken innocent lives in rage before, but never in cold blooded pre-meditation. Could he really kill like that? A voice was whispering, almost imperceptibly in his head – _you are a Jedi… what are you thinking of?… this is wrong,… you know it is wrong…_ Anakin strained to listen, gazing distractedly at Obi-Wan as he concentrated. He noticed the muscles in his friend's neck were clenching and unclenching in tension.

"Let me do it." Obi-Wan said suddenly.

Anakin was shocked. "You? But you can't. It's not in your nature."

"I am a warrior, just like you. And you are clearly very distressed." Obi-Wan spoke quickly, as if to convince himself of the argument. "Your powers are stronger, but I have more experience. And although you are on the Council some members may still have their suspicions, especially once the truth of the affair comes to light. No one would suspect me."

Anakin gazed at Obi-Wan, tears suddenly filling his eyes in gratitude at the selflessness of his friend's offer. "But… I…," he strained to listen again but the whispering voice was now silent. There was no counter- argument to make. "You… you must do it soon," he said with a nod of acceptance. "Before we leave Tarrabba."

"Consider it done. "Obi-Wan replied solemnly, fixing Anakin with eyes that were now misty blue. "But please… let her live."

_Let her live? _Did Obi-Wan really believe he wanted to kill Padmé too? Anakin recoiled in horror, searching his feelings desperately. This morning he had been in love, and in agony at the possibility of his wife's deceit. But now everything had changed. He felt as if his heart had been set in ice, the love he'd had for Padmé shrivelled, dry and dead, replaced by disgust, disdain and loathing for the woman she had become.

Anakin did not reply to his friend's plea. Obi-Wan may not be ready to hear it yet, but Padmé's was the ultimate betrayal, and she, like Bail, would have to pay.


	13. Chapter 12

Bail Organa smiled sleepily, looking down as the mass of red curls on the pillow beside him. The wild ringlets almost obscured the pretty face of the sleeping girl who shared his bed. He yawned. The grey dawn light was just beginning to filter through the wooden shutters at the window and he needed to get up very soon. He had a very busy day of political wrangling in front of him, in all likelihood followed by a sleepless night too. It has been rather reckless to spend so little of the previous night sleeping, but the girl had been very persuasive. Not that Bail ever needed much persuading, especially when the woman in question had the face and body of an angel and the mind of someone significantly less innocent.

Bail had a weakness for a particular combination of vulnerability and seduction that was rarely found in the women of Coruscant's pleasure clubs, and he certainly hadn't expected to find it in a seedy nightclub on this obscure planet. But the girl had captured his attention from the moment he had laid his eyes on her, undulating her slim body to beat of the music as she danced on a platform at the back of the smoky bar. Of course she had seen him watching and afterwards had gravitated towards him, his richly cut, non-military clothes presumably an obvious sign of his wealth.

He hadn't cared what motivations she'd had for paying him such close attention though, in fact he had simply relished the opportunity to enjoy her company without the risk of being recognised, something which was a constant threat on Coruscant. He had not been able to relax in completely of course, since he still wanted to keep his arguably distasteful penchant for such liaisons secret from Senator Amidala, especially now he needed her support for his application to be Palpatine's representative on the Jedi Council. So it had also been rather imprudent to allow the girl back to the lodgings he was sharing with Padmé. But she had been quite insistent, in ways he imagined would make the beautiful senator from Naboo blush as red as the scarlet wildflowers she loved so much.

Bail watched as the girl sighed a little and stirred in her sleep. He knew he had to wake her now if he was to get rid of her before Padmé rose for the day. He reached down to touch her bare shoulder and shook it gently. "Bianca," he whispered her name as loudly as he dared. The old stone walls of the house were thick but sound still seemed to carry very well from room to room, and Padmé was sleeping just down the corridor. "Wake up. Bianca!" He shook her a little more insistently.

She groaned and wriggled his hand away, turning to bury her face even more deeply into the pillow.

"Sorry love, but you need to get up. I have work to do and I can't leave you here."

"Okay, okay, in a minute," she responded sleepily, her voice muffled by the soft pillow.

Bail waited a few seconds for her to move but still she did not. His fingers moved to run along the edge of the sheet which lay against her bare back.

"Mmm," she murmered in pleasure at the brief caress.

He smiled, pausing again before quickly whipping the sheet away from her body.

She yelped indignantly then giggled, shifting to curl herself against his body and snuggle into his the warmth of his chest, burying her face in his neck.

"Now that was very naughty, Senator Organa," she spoke against his skin, her voice still husky with sleep. "I think I will have to charge you extra…" Her hand trailed a slow path down his ribcage, and he felt her lips open and begin to suck on his neck. He sighed, knowing exactly what she was trying to do and what would happen if he let her continue for a minute longer. Regretfully, he grasped her thin wrist and removed her hand from his chest.

"I'll pay you double if you leave in the next five minutes," he whispered, trying to ignore the sensations of her wet mouth on his skin and the memory of how it felt in other places. He felt her smile again him and then she sat up, flashing him a cheeky grin and placing a quick kiss on his lips.

"Now that is an offer I'd love to accept," she said, sitting back and beginning to twirl an auburn ringlet around her finger. "Although we do have a little problem…" she nodded towards the pile of flimsy material discarded by the side of the bed.

"Ah, yes…" The mornings were notoriously chilly on this planet, and he couldn't very well allow her to walk all the way back to the harbour clothed only in the thin scraps of fabric that made up her dancing costume. Especially since, with the enthusiasm of their lovemaking the previous night, he had managed to tear the only part that made it anything approaching decent. The entire city was practically a military base, and although he was sure she could look after herself he was not about to make her walk around half naked in broad daylight. Contradictory as it may be to feel that way about a mere prostitute, he still thought of himself as a gentleman.

Bail got up from the bed, hastily pulling on his trousers before striding across the room to remove his coat from the back of the door. Bianca got up too, and finished pulling on what remained of her clothes before sauntered over to him. He couldn't help but appreciate the sway of her hips and the creamy whiteness of her skin, visible in places through the pastel layers of thin material which seemed to float around her body.

"Here," he said, dragging his eyes back up to her face and tucking the thick woollen coat around her shoulders. He opened her small hand and placed stack of gold credit chips into her palm before closing her fingers. He was paying her more like three times the price they had agreed but right now he didn't care. She had been worth it. "You can give me my coat back this evening," he added with a smile.

"I will see you tonight then?" She gazed up at him imploringly, suddenly looking very much the nineteen year-old girl she was, and not the scarlet-lipped vixen-like pleasure whore who had been making him struggle to control his moans just a few hours ago.

"Of course," he said, running a finger down the side of her face. "How could I resist?"

She pressed into the contact and closed her eyes. He kissed her forehead softly. "Now go, before you get me into trouble!"

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I'll be counting the hours until I see you again." She hastily pocketed the credit chips, placed her small hands on either side of his face and reached up on tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips before giggling again as he pushed her out of the door.

Bail closed the door as quietly as he could, walked back over to the bed and began dressing with a sigh. He knew he should have told her he would be leaving Tarrabba that night. She obviously had some affection for him and it was what any decent man would have done. But he also knew that, had he told her, she would have begged him to take her with him and, even if he had wanted to, that was something he simply could not do.

Back on Coruscant, his reputation was everything, and he knew with the role he'd recently played in the peace negotiations there would be plenty of attention focused on him when he returned. The requests for interviews were already flooding in, and just a glimpse of him with a woman of questionable origin would be enough to fuel gossip he could not afford. This was the time for him to take advantage of the media attention, not shy away from it.

So while Bianca danced and drank and waited for him that night, he would be boarding the military transport ship that would take him back to the galactic capital. He would not only miss her in his bed – he would miss her pretty face, her mischievous laugh, and if he was completely truthful, the adoring way in which she had started to look at him.

But it was safer for him not to risk saying goodbye. For Bail Organa may have been able to hold his own with senators, royalty and Jedi, but there were certain women to whom he found it difficult to refuse anything.

* * *

"How could I possibly have lost it Dormé?" Padmé asked in frustration.

"I don't know m'lady." The handmaiden watched nervously as her employer frantically opened and closed drawers and cupboard doors. It appeared that it was not only her interaction with Obi-Wan that had been a disaster two nights before. The necklace she had stolen from Padmé was far more precious to the senator than Dormé had previously thought.

She glanced around the room. Padmé's usually tidy bedchamber was strewn with belongings. Dormé had never seen her this distraught before.

"Was it terribly valuable?" She asked, feeling like she should say something.

"Believe me Dormé, I would have rather lost every other thing I brought here," the senator replied. "I fear Anakin might kill me for losing it," she said with a bitter humour in her voice, before adding hastily "were he not such a kind and gentle man."Dormé tried to look sympathetic but inwardly she frowned. Anakin had certainly not seemed to be very kind, nor very gentle in the past few days. Why was Padmé still deluding herself about him?

The handmaiden stared out of the window, watching the glint of morning sunshine on the distant ocean which was just visible from the upper floors of their house. To the west a steady stream of transport shuttles were already ferrying their cargo to the Republic cruisers waiting in orbit. The military withdrawal operation had begun.

Perhaps when Padmé and Anakin were back on Coruscant, in familiar surroundings, they would both relax and stop arguing. Dormé rarely spent much time thinking about the problems of other people but she wished the couple could be happy together, she really did. Padmé deserved it. But Dormé could not help herself feeling frustrated at how the senator failed to see her husband's obvious faults. Anakin may be a Jedi but he was also a man, and he had demonstrated quite clearly over the previous few days just how prone he was to weakness.

Dormé sighed inwardly. Now Anakin and Padmé would in all likelihood spend another day arguing, all because of her stupid mistake. She toyed with the idea of confessing, telling Padmé that she had taken the pendant and given it to Obi-Wan. But then she would have to explain why she had done it without revealing her other plans. It would be incredibly difficult for her to pick apart the web of deceit she had got herself tangled in…

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the flash of a vehicle moving past the metal grille of the gates to their lodgings. Moments later, the gate opened and a familar dark-clad figure strode purposefully across the courtyard to the front door.

"M'lady,' she said, interrupting Padmé who was still busy speaking about the virtues of her husband. "You'd better go downstairs right away. He's here."

Padmé rushed to the door with a mixture of happiness and trepidation. A part of her wanted to believe the man she knew and loved would be waiting to take her into his arms. But where had Anakin been all night? And how was she going to ensure he didn't notice she had lost his precious gift? She didn't want to see him angry again, he had lost his temper the previous day over practially nothing. She shuddered at the thought of how he would react to something like this.

Trying to remain positive, she opened the door with a smile. "Anakin! My love, how are you? Where have you been? Come in, come in," she said brightly.

He simply stared at her. He looked terrible, she thought, huge dark circles under his eyes, his normally golden skin a pale greyish white. But it was his eyes that really scared her. Perhaps it was the light but it was almost as if they were the eyes of another man - someone she didn't recognise at all. Unnerved, she stood aside, leaving space for him to enter the hallway. He stepped over the threshold, but instead of walking past and into the room behind, he paused by her side and turned to face her. She instinctively backed up against the wall, intimidated by his body language.

Suddenly he smiled. "Padmé, are you all right?" he said. "You are quite flushed, like you feel guilty about something." She noticed the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Don't be silly Anakin, I've just been so worried about you! After you stormed out yesterday I didn't know what to think. It's a great relief to see you again."

She heard her own voice tremble slightly. This was silly, she told herself. Why should she be scared of Anakin, her little Ani, the little boy she had comforted when he was just nine years old, the young man that had kissed her so nervously for the first time, the brave knight who had taken her heart? She forced herself to reach up and kiss his cheek, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him to her.

With relief she felt him embrace her, lifting his hand to stroke her hair then pulling back to look down into her eyes, just as he had done a hundred times before. His eyes were vivid blue now, the eyes she recognised and loved. But before she realised what was happening his fingers had moved to caress her throat.

She felt him stiffen as his expression fell. "Where is it?" He asked harshly.

Padmé tried to swallow down the irrational panic that rose in her chest. She twisted from his grasp, turning away to walk into the living room.

"I… well… I've only just got up Anakin, and I was in such a rush to see you..." She could sense he'd followed her into the room but she did not dare raise her eyes to his again.

"Have you lost it?" He asked in the same cold tone. It must be a coincidence, she thought, for him to suspect that. Powerful Jedi that he was, she knew he could not read her mind. He had told her himself. But he would be able to sense guilt, and she knew she would feel guilty if she lied to him, so the only option was for her to try not to lie.

"No of course not. It's upstairs." It was the truth, she knew the Jappor Snippet must be upstairs, because that was where she had last seen it. Where else could it be?

"Then go and get it, show me."

"Why are you so angry all of a sudden?" She countered his demand with a question. "Why should I go and get it? Do you not believe me?"

"No."

This wasn't going well. She needed to think of something, and quickly.

"Okay…" She forced herself to look back up at him. She expected to see thunder in his expression but to her surprise he was watching her with something approaching cold, clinical disdain. She frantically tried to collect her thoughts, remembering who she was, and how he had been treating her.

"I have not worn it for the past day or so," she said, with was she hoped was an air of resignation. "And I'm not going to, Anakin, while you keep speaking to me like this. I don't know what's wrong with you, or what I've done, but I won't be treated like this. It's not fair. And I'm not going to wear the Jappor Snippet again until you talk to me. You are my husband, you have to trust me."

It was a good explanation and she should have been congratulating herself on her quick thinking, but instead she was trying to suppress a twinge of guilt. What she had said was perfectly reasonable, but it was not the truth. She shouldn't be blaming his behaviour for her own mistake. She should be supporting him, not throwing whatever was wrong back in his face, She just hoped he couldn't sense her uncertainty. Once he had calmed down and told her what was wrong she would admit what had happened. Her Anakin, the old Anakin, would not be angry about it.

But now he laughed sarcastically. "And you are my wife, " he said, beginning to walk towards her. "Is it not about time you started acting like one?" He was very close now, and he reached out to pull her to him, holding her in a vice-like grip by the waist. She looked up at him uncertainly, suddenly feeling very small and weak. He smiled back down at her, the same, cruel smile as before, before leaning to kiss her. But it was not the tender, careful kiss she was used to. Usually Anakin treated her like she was a fragile, precious object, gentle almost to the point of frustration. But now he was kissing so hard her lips were hurting and his tongue was pushing its way, uninvited, into her mouth. She tried to twist in his grasp but he held her fast, sliding one hand to squeeze the flesh of her backside through her dress.

With a cry she managed to wrench his lips away from hers. "No! Anakin, what's wrong with you? Stop!" Her tone was desperate and frightened. She saw a flicker of confusion on his face. His hold on her relaxed instantly and she backed away from him.

"I'm… I'm sorry Padmé," he said hesitantly, rubbing his forehead.

She regained her composure quickly, sensing an opportunity to get him to open up to her. "Come, sit down." She said gently, gesturing to the sofa and walking over to sit down at one end.

He seemed to struggle internally with some decision before walking over and slumping down onto the cushions, tilting his head backwards and closing his eyes. She edged nearer to him, doing her best to overcome the fear she still felt at the aggressive way he had touched her a few moments ago. Maybe it was not a good idea to question him directly. What could she think of to distract him?

She thought for a few minutes before speaking. "I was talking to Bail earlier," she said, suddenly remembering how she still needed to convince Anakin to agree to support their friend's application to the Jedi Council. Bail had spent a great deal of time with them over the years, perhaps the memories of happy times would help Anakin relax? "He was saying how much he would enjoy the opportunity to work with you. Perhaps you could give him a tour of the Temple when you get back to Coruscant?"

Padmé had not been looking at Anakin whilst she spoke, but now she raised her eyes to her husband, expecting to see him still slumped back on the seat.

She physicially jumped when she found he was sitting bolt upright, and much closer to her than he had been before. She had not heard or felt him move. Even worse, he was looking at her with an intensity that made her tremble, and his alien eyes now held something she could not fail to recognise.

Hate.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. How could he possibly feel that way toward her? She watched as he broke the eye contact, looking down to his hand which was resting on the arm of the sofa. She followed his gaze, noticing the whites of his knuckes and then hearing the creak of the wood as it began to crumple in his grip. All around her, furniture in the room started to shake. A vase fell from a side table and smashed loudly on the floor. Padmé was frozen with fear. Every part of her wanted to run away but her muscles refused to cooperate. She could not even think properly.

Suddenly, Anakin stood up, throwing a hand backwards and sending the sofa she was sitting on sliding and then slamming against the wall. Then without a backward glance he ran from the room. Moments later she heard the front door slam.

Padmé slumped back, weak with relief, her mind numb, not able to fully comprehend just how afraid she had been of her husband.

"And that was kind, gentle Anakin?" Dormé's quiet voice came from the door.

The sound of her handmaiden voice broke the spell that had frozen her body and mind. Padmé burst into tears.

Dormé rushed over to her, sitting down by her side and putting an arm around her shoulders. Padmé turned to her friend, burying her face in her shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. She felt Dormé's arms wrap around her.

"Shhh…" the girl soothed.

"I've never seen him like this before Dormé," Padmé said desperately, pulling back a little to look up into the girl's brown eyes. "In all the years I've know him, he has never been like this!"

Dormé looked back at her sadly. "All men are the same," she said quietly. "Some take longer than others but eventually we see what they are really like."

"You think that Anakin is really like this? How could I have failed to see it before?"

Dormé looked like she was about to say something else when they were interrupted by the sound of the gate and footsteps in the courtyard.

Padmé could not stop herself from shuddering with dread. Had Anakin come back?

It was with immense relief that she recognised the sound of Obi-Wan's voice in the hallway. Seconds later the Jedi Master walked into the room, accompanied by Bail Organa.

"Ah Padmé," I'm so glad you're here, Bail said, walking over to her quickly. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to pester Anakin again about the Council seat. I'm sorry to…" his words faltered as he saw her face. "Wha – whatever happened?" He looked around, noticing the state of the room.

"I'm sorry Bail." Padmé said quietly. "Anakin is not himself. I'm afraid I might have angered him by asking him to recommend you. I – I'm not sure what's wrong. I'm afraid you will have to be patient and wait for a little while. I promise I'll do everything I can for you." She smiled weakly. Bail kneeled before her, taking her shaking hands in his own.

"Anakin is angry?" Obi-Wan was still standing by the doorway.

"He just left, he was very distressed. I saw it myself." Dormé responded sternly. She slid her arm protectively back around Padmé's shoulders.

"Curious," Obi-Wan replied calmly. "I don't think I can remember him ever being angry, in all the years we've worked together… in the very worst battles, when he lost his hand, even when his mother died, he took it so calmly. Was he upset? There must be something very, very wrong if he's angry. What in the galaxy could it be?"

"I don't know Obi-Wan!" Padmé cried out in frustration. "Please, go and talk to him, find out. He trusts you, he'll talk to you. Please, persuade him to tell you what is wrong."

"I'll go right away," the Jedi replied quickly.

Dormé lifted her head and frowned as she watched Obi-Wan leave. "Are you alright m'lady?" she said, after he had gone.

"He did not hurt you, did he?" Bail added gravely.

"No, no, I'm fine," Padmé said brightly, untangling her hands from Bail's and wiping her eyes. She looked towards the empty doorway. "But Master Kenobi is right. There must be something terribly wrong with my husband. I just hope Obi-Wan can find out what it is."


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks for your comments, I really appreciate knowing people are reading this story! Sorry it is taking me so long to update at the moment, I hope that will get better soon. As well as this little chapter I have a trailer for this 'fic for you - check out the link on my profile page.

* * *

By mid-morning the Central Zone of the Republic military base was bustling with activity. Every few minutes the air rumbled with the thunderous engine noise of another transport launch. Military personnel swarmed around the grey military buildings, intent on the task of completing the evacuation by midnight. Even if the majority of the men had not been clones, genetically modified to unconditional obedience, they would have been too busy to think of doing anything else. No one had time to ask questions. It was just the way General Kenobi liked it.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself as he strode casually along the straight, wide thoroughfare, boots crunching quietly on the sandy surface and black cloak billowing in the stiff breeze. He could sense Anakin was somewhere by the harbour in the old city, but the boy's emotions were as clear as if he were standing just feet away. Better still Obi-Wan felt a subtle change - from anger and outraged desperation, Anakin's thoughts had turned the corner towards cold, bitter hatred. Obi-Wan recognised it well. He closed his eyes momentarily and took in a deep breath, feeling the full seductive power of the dark side throbbing around him, resonating from his former apprentice with a strength he had never experienced before. It was intoxicating.

Relishing the heady surge of power in his blood, a memory flashed briefly in his mind and Obi-Wan felt a sting of irritation. He had made a mistake, that night, with the girl, and it still haunted him. She had pushed him too far and he had given in to the thrill of his power over her. But he was not concerned she would deliberately betray him in revenge - he still had an advantage in the form of his knowledge of her own deceit. She was far too self-serving to risk being found out by looking for retribution. No, the real risk came because by marking her as he had, he risked her having to explain what had happened to others. To potentially rely on someone else like that was strictly against his self-imposed rules. The lack of control, however minor, unnerved him.

Obi-Wan bit his lip. Despite his misgivings, he could not help but remember with pleasure the trembling softness of her body, her feeble attempt at seduction, and her indignation and lust as it mixed with sheer terror. By tomorrow her consent would be an irrelevance. He would be free to toy with her at his will, if he chose to. But without the risk would the thrill be diminished?

In any case until then he would need to be careful. He could not take any more risks. If necessary, of course, he would kill her, and their little game would be over. That would be unfortunate. Ironically enough, given her misplaced confidence in her own ability to seduce him, there was something about her that _was_ seductive. Not in any way she would understand, obviously. At least, not yet. Obi-Wan held his hand up, squinting against the sun to check his bearings before turning a corner on to a side street. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the dry texture of the salt that he could also taste on his lips.

Detaching himself from the frantic swirling of the Force for a moment Obi-Wan strode on, focusing his mind on his next task. _Organa_. He had toyed with the idea of letting Anakin kill the senator, but quickly recognised from the tiniest flicker of hesitation in his former apprentice that the boy was not ready. He knew that Anakin could switch in a few seconds from a powerful, ferocious monster to a shaking carcass of regret, and Obi-Wan could not risk that happening too soon. Unfortunately that meant he was now faced with the task of planning Organa's murder, when he didn't even have the time to enjoy it.

Reaching his destination, Obi-Wan glanced up at the façade of the building in front of him. It was grey and anonymous like all the others, save for a pink neon sign above the door that flickered weakly against the harshness of the morning sun. He stepped inside, blinking against the sudden gloom and breathing in the putrefying smell of sweat, smoke and alcohol. Unsurprisingly given the hour, the cantina was almost deserted. He walked towards the bar. This place was home to one of Organa's dirty little secrets and he sensed that here he would be able to find inspiration for the pathetic fool's demise. Obi-Wan scanned the room, simultaneously reaching out into the Force to check the back rooms for the presence of Organa's little whore. Obi-Wan would have enjoyed seeing that secret revealed to the apparently noble senator's devoted public, particularly because it was the truth. It was almost a shame that by tomorrow the entire Republic would be too distracted by other events to care.

"C…can I help you sir?" The bartender was obviously nervous to see the Republic Army's commanding officer in his seedy bar. It was, basically, a brothel, and Force knew what else went on in there. Actually Obi-Wan knew all too well, but his public distaste for such places was almost legendary. He allowed himself an ironic smile as he ordered a drink and waited for mere seconds before it was delivered by the man's shaking hands. With barely a movement of his finger Obi-Wan sent the man a Force suggestion, ensuring he would remember nothing about their encounter, or indeed anything that would happen in the next half hour.

Obi-Wan sat down on a grimy bar stool and took a gulp of his drink. It burned his throat in a savagely pleasant way. His thoughts focused back on Organa's red-headed slut. She was not here, but he was sure he'd think of something. He always did.

Sure enough, halfway through his second drink he felt an unwelcome presence enter the bar. After an initial surge of annoyance a slow smile of satisfaction curved his lips.

Of course. Perfect.

* * *

"I am still very annoyed with you Obi-Wan. It's almost as if you are deliberately trying to prevent me from making any progress." Wil Roden's words slurred a little as he took a slug from his third Corellian whisky.

"Listen to me Wil," Obi-Wan fixed him with an impassive gaze. This was boring. The man was a bore.

"No! I will not!" Roden jabbed a finger thin finger towards his companion. "I've heard too much of your smooth-talk. What you say and what you do are two completely different things, and I'm not going to put up with it any more."

"You are being most unfair, Ambassador." Obi-Wan heard his own tone of voice - it was steady and unenthusiastic. With a delicate tendril of the Force, he idly reached out and into Roden's body. The man's skeleton felt so incredibly brittle. He counted the vertebrae carefully, working from the pelvis upward. Just a neat snap _here_ would do the trick, ending the irritating whining in his ear instantly.

"Why did I ever let you persuade me to come here?" Roden was saying petulantly. "I've no money left. Everything has gone into negotiating your precious treaty, not to mention the fortune I've spent on the gifts you took from me to deliver to Padmé. You told me she was impressed, but I have heard nothing. Nothing!"

"Fine," Obi-Wan said through gritted his teeth.

"No! It's not fine! I'm not alright, it's wrong, and you have cheated me!"

"Fine."

"Are you deaf Kenobi? It's not fine. I'm going to go and tell her everything. Then she will realise what an important part I have played in all of this. And if she does not give me what you have promised, you will be sorry, I promise you of that!"

Obi-Wan's fist clenched suddenly and the glass in his hand shattered, sending shards of the sharp material flying in all directions. _Enough_. The fool's life would be saved for the moment by a matter of circumstance, but he would not listen to this drivel any longer. The idea of Roden threatening him would be comical, if he were not so irritating.

Obi-Wan looked down. Blood was seeping from a deep cut on his palm. He held his hand up to inspect it carefully, watching the thick red liquid run down his wrist and drip onto the surface of the bar. Beside him Roden had fallen silent, and Obi-Wan glanced up to see the other man watching in horror, his face a pallid shade of grey.

"Have you finished now?" Obi-Wan's voice was deathly quiet and sent a shiver of fear down Roden's spine.

Roden could not find his voice to respond. He dragged his eyes up from Obi-Wan's bloodied hand to his face. The Jedi met his gaze harshly but then his expression softened, and Roden felt an involuntary flood of relief.

When Obi-Wan spoke it was in a voice as soothing as honey. "I understand your grievances, and I admire your passion. Perhaps I underestimated you Wil – a man of your rank after all, you have every right to be angry at how events have unfolded. Here, give me your hand."

Roden watched, relief quickly fading back to horror, as Kenobi smiled at him, extending his blood-slicked hand. Roden could not stand the sight of blood – it made him feel faint, and now Obi-Wan wanted him to shake hands? Wasn't he angry with the Jedi, anyway? He couldn't remember properly, his head felt very strange. To his horror he felt the compulsion to move his hand forward, and although he felt nausea rising up in him, he also found his eyes were riveted to the sight of Obi-Wan's rough fingers clasping his own thin ones, and to the red trickle of the other man's blood along his arm as he felt it, warm and slimy on his skin.

As though oblivious to his injury, Obi-Wan took placed his other hand over Roden's and squeezed it, sending a thick pulse of blood dripping from their joined flesh. "I am sorry you think I have set out to deceive you, but I implore you nothing is further from the truth. I've done everything I can to help you," he said, calmly.

"You've done everything you can to help me," Roden heard himself repeating. His vision was beginning to tunnel, the room starting to close in.

Kenobi leaned closer. "Senator Organa has been taking all the credit for your contributions, you know that to be the truth," he hissed. "And Padmé is blindly and utterly in love with him, spending every moment in his bed. There is only one way for you to get rid of him, and that is to use every ounce of energy in your pathetic body to kill him. Now, you will listen carefully and do everything I am about to tell you."

As Obi-Wan suddenly let go of his hand Roden found himself swimming back into full conciousness, his vision clearing to reveal the concerned face of his friend as his arms fell limply to his sides.

"Are you alright Wil?" Obi-Wan asked, clasping him firmly by the shoulders. "You look faint."

"I – I don't know. I can't remember. What was I saying?" His head felt heavy and very strange.

"You were busy imploring me to tell you how to murder that deceitful swine of a politician, and I think you got caught up in the passion of it all," Obi-Wan replied with a chuckle.

"Was I – then how…?"

Obi-Wan's expression became serious again. He let go of Roden shoulders and lifted a hand to run nervously through his hair. "I'm still uncomfortable about this, but you were very convincing…"

"Then tell me. How shall I do it? When?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Tonight. Just before we leave. Organa is liasing with a whore, she works here."

Roden sneered in disgust. Organa had the attentions of his beautiful Padmé but was still using prostitutes? It was sickening.

"He will not be able resist seeing her one final time before leaving," Obi-Wan continued. "If you wait nearby you'll easily be able to take him out, I will provide you with a suitable weapon. It will be quick, and bloodless."

Roden breathed out in relief. At least he would not have to see any blood or gore, he would not be able to handle that. But what if he was seen…?

"Everyone will have left or be leaving," Obi-Wan said, reassuringly. "No one will notice and once we have left this planet no one here will care."

Roden smiled conspiratorily. There were no more doubts left in his mind. "Then it is settled."

Obi-Wan smiled back. "Meet me by the harbour at nightfall and we will make our final arrangements. I'm afraid I must leave you now, I have much to do."

Roden nodded his acknowledgement and the Jedi turned to go, quickly and casually wiping his hand on the side of his robe.

"Oh and Wil," Obi-Wan said with a quick backwards glance as he reached the door. "Get someone to look at that hand of yours. It doesn't look healthy at all."

Confused, Roden glanced down. To his horror his palm was crusty with drying blood, and thin stained rivulets of dark red spread down over his wrist, along his arm, and converged to another patch of fresh blood on his shoulder.

He felt nausea, then panic, then nothing at all as dark spots clouded his vision and he sank to the floor.


	15. Chapter 14

Sorry this took so long guys! Real life getting in the way again, boo.

Anyway, to continue...

* * *

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his cramped position, blinking away a bead of sweat as it trickled irritatingly into his eye. In one hand he held a crystal torch, the green light angled to illuminate a small area underneath the left wing of his starfighter. In his other was a screwdriver, the slender handle clasped delicately between his finger and thumb. He had owned this particular tool for over ten years, and many droids, engines and even whole ships had been saved by its use. Oblivious to the string of concerned beeps and whistles from the droid to his left, he probed deeper into the cavity of the wing, craning his neck to focus on his work.

For as long as he could remember Anakin had tinkered with machines. As a boy, when his mother had scolded him, he would run to his tiny room in their house and work furiously on his latest project until the guilt and the frustration and the desire to burst out crying had disappeared. At the Jedi Temple he had continued the hobby, despite the disapproval of his fellow padawans and the exasperation of his long-suffering Master at having their quarters turned into something resembling a junk shop. But Obi-Wan had never disapproved. He, at least, had understood that Anakin needed to escape, to unwind, and to forget. And usually, when he was working like this, Anakin could forget. His mind might start off in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, but steadily they would quieten until he knew nothing but the grind of metal on metal, the twist of wire on wire, and the buzz of excitement he felt every time his simple goal was achieved. Usually, at that point, even an insurmountable problem would be forgotten.

Usually.

Today, as Anakin worked, he could not help but dwell on his encounter with Padmé that morning. In truth he had done nothing but replay it over and over in his mind ever since he had run from the living room of her lodgings. As she opened the door the very sight of her had sickened him. She was so beautiful, and to think her capable of what Obi-Wan had suggested was agonising. Whilst still stood at the doorway he had reached out for her feelings and found a mess. He could sense excitement, anxiety, fear, and then, there it was, just the briefest flash.

Guilt.

But then she had embraced him and as her small arms encircled his waist everything had changed. Perhaps the guilt had been an error – on her part, or his. After all, a sense of guilt could be triggered by many things. Even though Anakin dwarfed his wife's tiny body whenever she held him he had always felt comforted and safe. He had breathed in the scent of lilies in her hair, letting the familiar sense of her love for him wash over his mind. He wanted so badly to believe they were wrong. Obi-Wan had admitted the evidence was only circumstantial. Had they both made a terrible misjudgement? When Anakin had pulled back to gaze into the brown eyes of his love he had fully expected to find the Jappor Snippet tied in its usual place around her slender neck.

And when his fingers failed to find it, he felt yet again like he had woken from a beautiful dream into a living nightmare.

Anakin barely perceived the short circuit before it happened. He Force-snatched his hand away from the wing of his starfighter and threw himself flat onto his back on the hard floor, letting out a string of Toydarian curses toward his droid companion, whose whistles and beeps had become panic-stricken.

"Shut up Artoo, I'm fine. I just forgot to switch off the power coupling, that's all."

The droid let out a single low whistle of apology and fell silent.

Raising a trembling hand in front of his face Anakin swallowed, shaken by what had just happened. Just a millisecond more and the entire energy supply of his fighter's left laser canon would have discharged through his body. He let his head rest back on the cool surface of the floor and closed his eyes, trying to centre himself. White spots clouded his vision. He felt weak. When had he last eaten? It may have been before he had last slept. He tried to relax and let his mind drift, focusing on the background noise of the military hanger – the hiss and thunk of cargo being loaded onto ships, the indistinct echoing of voices, and the sound of boots on durasteel, distant and then… yes.

One set of very recognisable footfalls was heading his way.

"Ah – I thought I'd find you here. The sixth brigade need your –" Obi-Wan's voice faltered as the Jedi Master ducked his head under the wing. "Gods Anakin, are you alright? You look like death."

Anakin sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead. "Yes fine, just went a bit dizzy, that's all."

Artoo beeped indignantly.

"Then perhaps it's a good idea I brought you this." Obi-Wan held up a brown paper package. "No ration stuff, either, just the best bantha burger in town, straight from that greasy shack down by the beach."

Anakin smiled. Just the smallest gesture like this, coming from Obi-Wan, was enough to make him instantly feel a hundred times better. The events of the past few days receded a little in his mind as the savoury smell of food wafted to his nostrils, making his stomach growl. "You're going all soft on me Master."

"You look like you need a bit of indulgence right now." Obi-Wan flashed him a quick smile before glancing back towards the group of Clone troopers working at the other end of the hangar. "Just don't tell the men. Here." The Jedi held out his hand and helped the younger man away from the spacecraft and to his feet.

"And don't expect me to join you," Obi-Wan added, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he handed the parcel over. "Just the smell of the thing nearly turned my stomach on the way here."

Anakin chuckled. "One day I'll turn you to the dark side Master. I've never understood how you can resist junk food." He ripped opened the package quickly and took a bite, suddenly finding himself ravenous. "Mmm…"

"Can we at least go somewhere more civilised whilst you eat this… thing?" Said Obi-Wan in feigned horror, indicating towards the doorway with his hand.

"Of course, lead the way," Anakin said with a grin, his mouth full of food.

Obi-Wan shook his head, the small smile on his lips completely spoiling the impression of disgust he was obviously trying to uphold.

Anakin felt his heart lift as they walked together. It felt so good, to be with his Master like this, to feel the familiar banter flying back and forth. When Anakin had been a teenager Obi-Wan's disapproval of his behaviour had often been real, and Anakin knew he had all too often deserved it. As Anakin had grown up, to the point where they were, in almost all respects, equal, they had often, voluntarily fallen back into the personas of the young, rebellious Padawan and the civilised, despairing Master. As a Jedi Knight Anakin knew his Master supported him wholeheartedly, and that he always had done. This playful reprisal of previous roles was a great comfort – it reminded him of everything they had been through together, from the greatest peril on the battlefield to the silliest, most inconsequential moments of domesticity. He knew Obi-Wan felt the same way.

And right now only his former Master knew the state of turmoil Anakin's mind was in, and how desperately the young man needed the comfort of acting, in the brightness of the day, as though everything was completely normal.

As though Anakin had never confessed those terrible secrets.

As though his beloved wife had never betrayed him.

As though they had not just last night conspired to murder a man both had previously called a friend.

Obi-Wan was his anchor. Whilst he acted normally, Anakin could just about convince himself everything was going to be fine.

Outside, a little way down from the doorway, they found a bench tucked into a small strip of shade against the hangar wall. The two men sat in silence as Anakin finished eating, the heat of the midday sun penetrating his boots and slowly warming his chilled feet.

"I can't wait to leave this place." He said eventually, crumpling the paper packaging between his hands.

"I know the feeling Anakin." Obi-Wan said, scuffing his boot along the sandy floor. "But by tomorrow we will be home."

"The evacuation plans are on schedule?"

"Ahead, in fact, if you can believe it."

"And Master Windu wishes to rendezvous with us?"

A shadow passed across Obi-Wan's face. "Yes. I assume it is because of the size of the operation. As you know, the number of troops involved is vast. It is a sizeable proportion of the entire Army."

"He doesn't trust us to do it?"

"It would appear not." Obi-Wan replied grimly.

They fell silent again. Anakin watched as the bright sun crept up his leg, spreading its warmth. He thought of Coruscant, of the Temple, and of the archives Obi-Wan had told him about. He clung on to the belief that they were the key to understanding what he had been experiencing. That this was, somehow, normal. Obi-Wan had been very evasive about it. It was puzzling, this silence from the man who had taught him so much. Did Obi-Wan not think him ready to understand who he really was? Or was his Master secretly afraid of what his former apprentice might have become?

"When we get back to the Temple I would like to take some time off, to study." Anakin broke the silence again.

"To study? Whatever for?"

"The archives, you know, those archives you said I would be able to access now I am on the Council? I will need to read what is there, unless you are going to tell me yourself." Anakin tried to speak jokingly but the words stuck in his throat. He coughed.

Obi-Wan acted as if he had not heard him, staring into the distance.

"Don't you remember, you sai-"

"Yes I remember." Obi-Wan interrupted sharply. He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and rubbing his eyes. "Anakin there is something I need to tell you. Something I need to… confess."

Anakin looked at him blankly.

"There is something I've been hiding from you. Several things in fact. I regret them terribly but I thought it better that you didn't know, but now…" Obi-Wan's voice trailed off.

"What is it?" Anakin asked quietly, feeling suddenly very cold again. Was Obi-Wan about to tell him that he would not be able to help him? That his Master, his friend, his only hope right now was fearful of him?

"When I told you, about the Council appointment… I was so happy for you, it seems I got a little carried away."

"What do you mean?"

"After what you achieved with Grievous the Council had no choice but to appoint you, it was a feat worthy of the Chosen One."

"Go on."

"But it seems certain divisions feel… Well they are of the opinion that you are too young, too rash, and too rebellious to be given the honour."

"And as a compromise the Council has agreed you will retain your appointment but not be granted the title of Master."

"What?"

Obi-Wan watched Anakin carefully, feeling through the Force the fragile skin that held the boy's emotions together. Slow and steady, that was the way. A trap so carefully laid, it could not be perceived, and so deadly that, once sprung, there could be no going back.

"I am very sorry Anakin. I don't know what else to say."

"I… But…" Anakin was speechless.

"Of course I can tell you about some of the more interesting information in the archives, that is the least I could do. But I'm afraid the rank itself and the opportunity to train a Padawan… there is nothing I can do to persuade the Council. I know you must be very disappointed."

"You…, you can?"

"Can what?"

"Tell me about the archives?"

"Yes, of course." Obi-Wan waved his hand casually. "We can start this afternoon, if you like. But there is more. There are other matters I need to discuss with you Anakin, regarding the Council, and the Senate."

Anakin smiled, relief flooding from him. "What other matters?"

"I…" Obi-Wan hesitated.

Anakin frowned.

"I can trust you Anakin, more than anyone, can't I?" the older Jedi continued.

"Yes of course Master."

"After everything, and after what has happened in the last few days." He sighed, rubbing his forehead, "perhaps this is not what you want to hear but on the other hand perhaps it will help explain… everything."

Anakin waited, silently, for Obi-Wan to continue, wondering what was making his normally calm Master so nervous.

"This is something I have suspected for years, Anakin. Years, without telling anyone. And you must promise me not to tell anyone else we had this conversation."

"Of course. What is it?"

"You know Palpatine has somehow managed to wrangle a place for a senator on the Council?"

"Yes." Anakin swallowed, thinking about Bail.

"And that goes against everything the Council are supposed to stand for. Thousands of years of Jedi history, of autonomy from politicians swept away in a couple of days."

"I suppose…"

"How do you think that was allowed to happen?"

"Well the Council must have allowed it to happen."

"Exactly." Obi-Wan looked at him intently.

"Wait a minute… you're saying someone on the Council is in league with Palpatine?" Palpatine, Padmé's uncle, who hated Anakin and was probably waiting in delight for the moment she would publicly humiliate him. Anakin felt a sudden rush of inevitability. Obi-Wan was right, everything was slowly starting to slide into place.

"I hope above all things that it is only one person."

"Who?" Asked Anakin. Not Yoda, he thought, that was impossible. And then it came to him. Who had always mistrusted him? Feared his power? Turned other Council members against him? Publicly derided the Chancellor but still, time after time, invited Palpatine to the Council Chamber?

Obi-Wan nodded grimly.

"Mace Windu." Anakin's voice cracked as he repeated the Jedi Master's name aloud.

Obi-Wan rested his head back against the wall of the building, closing his eyes. "I should have realised a long time ago. But I didn't want to believe it myself."

"What should we do?" The energy began to return back to Anakin's voice as he tensed, ready to stand. He was outraged by this, and ready to fly back to Coruscant right now and confront Mace, along with the entire Council, if necessary. The thought of how they had treated him, all these years…

He felt a hand on his arm.

"Patience." Obi-Wan said. "We will do nothing. We will return to Coruscant and we will watch and wait. It would be far too dangerous to risk a confrontation without sufficient evidence. Who knows how deep this corruption runs."

"You're right Master, of course," Anakin replied, slumping back down. If what Obi-Wan suspected was correct they would have to be very careful. The entire future of the Republic could be at stake. The war may have ended but with a Jedi Council potentially under the control of the Supreme Chancellor, democracy itself was under threat.

And they could trust no one.


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: If you think a particular part of this chapter is clever, it's not due to me - it's down to Wil Shakespeare ;)

* * *

Their short break over, Obi-Wan asked Anakin to accompany him back to the base's Military Command Center. The two Jedi were making their way along the side of the landing strip, bodies buffeted by wind, engine exhaust and sand, when Obi-Wan sensed an unexpected presence at the other end of the runway. He did not need to look up to know that Anakin had also recognised the Force signature; the boy's emotions were swirling blackly around them both in the powerful, heady way that Obi-Wan always found so distracting.

The older Jedi frowned. Organa. Obi-Wan thought he'd managed to generate enough diplomatic red tape to keep the senator occupied at his lodgings, nicely out of the way, until it was time for him to die. So why was he here? It was irritating. Anakin was so, so close to the place Obi-Wan needed him to be, but beneath the layers of suspicion, jealousy and resentment, he could still feel a grain of uncertainty, a doubt that Anakin's precious Padmé could really deceive him. Just a little more work and the younger man would be convinced, but time was running out. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was that blasted senator saying or doing something that managed to make the Anakin's doubt grow.

Anakin had stopped walking as soon as he'd recognised who was approaching. Now his eyes were focused with deadly intent on the distant, silhouetted figure of the Alderaanian senator. Obi-Wan was immediately uneasy. It was more than a matter of mere irritation; this situation could prove very dangerous.

"I'm going to speak to him, make him admit it," Anakin said determinedly, reaching into his cloak for his saber.

"No, Anakin, you must not do that." Obi-Wan replied calmly. Internally, however, he was far from calm. A series of possible solutions flashed through his mind. None of them were acceptable. He could not let Anakin kill Bail – the boy was not ready, and although enjoyable to witness, it would be far too risky. Even for Bail to die at Obi-Wan's own hands now was dangerous; they were in the middle of a Republic military base in broad daylight, for Force's sake. He'd not been so careful for all these years to throw everything away on a brief moment of pleasure.

Anakin had ignored him and was walking towards Bail again.

"Anakin. No!" Obi-Wan called out, his voice momentarily drowned out by the engine noise from a transport launch. Anakin was already several paces ahead. "Anakin!" Obi-Wan jogged to catch up him.

"I want to hear him say it, Obi-Wan! And then he will pay." Anakin's gaze was still fixed ahead, his long strides getting faster and more purposeful. Any moment now Bail would see them.

Suddenly their vision was obscured by a blast of steam and then a wall of solid metal as an Acclamator I-class assault ship slid swiftly from a hangar to their left, completely blocking their path. Anakin had no choice but to stop.

"Listen to me Anakin," Obi-Wan swung around to face the younger man, putting both hands on his shoulders. "You cannot do this. Not now, in public. You will be arrested and I will not be able to stop it." He had to shout to be heard over the increasing engine noise.

"I don't care." Anakin looked down, his blue eyes flicking back and forth across his friend's face. "He will admit he fucked my wife," he continued, the tightly-coiled tension of hatred in his voice unchanged. "Even if I have to slice pieces off him until he does."

Obi-Wan struggled to breathe evenly. The venomous anger rolling off the young Jedi was enough to make him swoon. Every dark and fetid cell of his body was screaming at him to stand back and let Anakin do it. For a moment he seriously considered doing just that.

Then Anakin lifted his eyes and looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan could sense that Bail was waiting, still unable to see them, at the other side of the starship. In a less than a minute the senator would be here.

But Bail Organa would not die, at least not now. Because in that moment, as Anakin's eyes had left his, Obi-Wan had finally worked out what he would do. And it was so perfect a solution he struggled to stop himself from smiling.

"Anakin." He said calmly. "Listen to me."

Anakin acted as if he hadn't heard him.

"What if I promise you that you will hear him admit it," Obi-Wan continued. "Will you promise me you will not touch him?"

"What?" Anakin said distractedly, still not looking down. "How?"

"Let me talk to him. He's boasted to me before about this affair. He'll do so again," Obi-Wan said smoothly. "You will hear him admit what he has done. Then, tonight, as we planned, he will die."

Finally Anakin met his gaze. "But. I-…"

In that moment's hesitation Obi-Wan knew Anakin would be convinced. A matter of seconds later he was steering the younger man inside the vacant hanger and behind a large stack of cargo containers.

"Stay here. You will hear him say it, I promise you. But you must remain hidden. Can you assure me of that?"

Anakin frowned, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. Deep down he knew Obi-Wan was trying to save him from making yet another huge mistake, but he was still struggling to control his emotions. "Yes," he said quietly, with a nod.

As Obi-Wan walked back out into the open to face Bail he swallowed nervously. He'd never attempted anything like this before. Especially not without the Force to fall back on. Anakin's training would mean he'd easily be able to tell if Bail was being Force-manipulated, so Obi-Wan could not risk even the subtlest suggestion.

This would be a matter of wits, and quite possibly, of sheer luck.

"Good afternoon senator, what brings you here?"

"Ah, Obi-Wan, good, I came to see you," Bail replied, shaking Obi-Wan's offered hand. "Some of the documents you gave me," he continued. "Well, to be honest I'm rather puzzled. They don't quite add up. Perhaps it is my misunderstanding of military terminology. I was wondering if we could go through them, if you have time?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Well as you know I'm very busy… but yes, I can spare a few minutes. Can we do it here?" He waved a hand towards a jumble of boxes in front of Anakin's hiding place. "I'm afraid it is not very comfortable but this is the closest thing I have to an office."

"Yes. Of course," Bail said, striding over to a suitable thigh-high container and sitting down. "I have my datapad with me." He placed his leather work case on an adjacent box and opened it.

"But tell me Bail," Obi-Wan said with a concerned expression, sitting down opposite him. "Are you unwell? You look tired."

Bail looked up with a smile. "Ah, just sleep deprivation, but of the most enjoyable kind, if you understand me."

"Oh, I see." Obi-Wan's lips curved into a small half-smile.

Bail chuckled. Obi-Wan knew about his liaisons with Bianca. The Jedi Master had seen the two of them leaving the club together the very first night they had met.

Behind the stacked containers a few feet away, Anakin shifted his position in the small space, trying to improve his view. Bail's back was towards him. He could see Obi-Wan's face over the senator's shoulder.

"I never seen a woman so in love," Obi-Wan was saying.

"Yes, poor thing, I think she really does love me." Bail shook his head.

Anakin's back prickled in irritation. How could he speak so casually of Padmé's affections?

"You know her family say you intend to marry her. Do you?" Obi-Wan asked.

Bail laughed. "Marry her? That little whore? Oh come Obi-Wan, give me some credit. Why should she think that?"

Anakin bit his lip until he tasted blood. In his head Bail's words were repeated: _That little whore_. He had assumed Bail was in love with Padmé. How could he not be?

Obi-Wan frowned. "That's what they are saying."

"Bah, you're making this up," Bail replied.

"No I'm not, in all honesty." Obi-Wan lifting up his hands, palms facing outward. "Do you think me a liar?"

"Hmm, then she must have put that little rumour about herself," Bail said. "I can't help it if she's in love with me. But I tell you, Master Kenobi, she flatters herself. I never promised her anything."

"You did not?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin wanted to laugh out loud. So even Obi-Wan had underestimated the selfishness arrogance of this particular politician. It was sickening.

"No, but I can't get rid of her, Obi-Wan." Bail replied. "As I have told you before I am more than happy for her to share my bed, but she follows me everywhere, its embarrassing."

Bail's words echoed in Anakin's mind again: _more than happy for her to share my bed_. So there was his admission. Obi-Wan had been right. But Anakin was starting to feel numb. This was all completely wrong. I couldn't be real.

Bail was still speaking. "…walking yesterday by the shore and she came up to me and flung her arms around me and swooned and giggled and kissed me in broad daylight! I mean if anyone were to find out, if word were to get back to… it could be very dangerous for me, you know that. But she doesn't seem to care."

Obi-Wan's eye flicked to Anakin's for a second. "So you do not love her?" He asked.

"Love her? Of course not." Bail replied, dismissively. "If I can be frank with you, Obi-Wan, she is an opportunist. A very beautiful, but still a conniving, if slightly over-romantic, manipulative, opportunist. She loves me because she believes I will help her fulfil whatever silly ambitions she has. If she were not such a delicious little minx in bed I'd already have finished it."

Suddenly, and with terrible, devastating clarity, Anakin understood. This was reality. This was Padmé. Everything in his life up to his arrival on this planet was unreal. He had been deceived totally, and utterly, and it had all been Padmé's doing. He wanted to laugh. Bail might be despicable but he was not naïve, not foolish. Not stupid, like Anakin. Bail Organa had seen through Padmé Amidala, right from the start.

And now the familiar anger started to rise in Anakin's blood, wave upon wave adding to his rage. First jealousy, for the loss of the beautiful woman who he thought had belonged to him. Then anger, for his own naivety, because he had never really had her in the first place. Finally hatred, for the fool she had made of him. For her deceit. How _dare_ she treat him like that? How _dare_ she?

Anakin suddenly realised the conversation between the two other men had ceased. At the other side of the containers, Obi-Wan was looking straight towards him, intently, a strange expression on his face. What was happening? Oh. Someone was coming, a stranger. Anakin did not recognise the Force signature. He craned his neck to see a young woman enter the hangar, her curly red hair bouncing as she walked.

The two other men had turned when they had heard someone entering. The girl strode straight over to Bail and slapped him hard across the face.

"Damn you!" She yelled.

"Whatever is the matter?" Bail clutched his cheek.

"I believed you, fool that I was, all your sweet talk, all your lies. Pity you gave me your coat, because guess what you left in your pocket? A love token from some slut! Well you can give it back to her, I don't want it!"

Anakin tightened his grip on the container in front of him. No. It couldn't be, he didn't want to see it…

The girl threw the Jappor Snippet down at Bail's feet.

"Wha – no, Bianca, I swear to you, I've never seen that before in my life!" Bail protested.

Anakin could feel, taste, and smell the darkness swirling around him. There was no mistaking it, no use in denying it. This was the dark side, and he was about to embrace it. His vision was starting to fade into blackness…

At the other side of the containers, Obi-Wan watched the argument incredulously.

"A likely story!" Bianca said. "And now you will be sorry, because we'll see how your famous Coruscant holojournals like my version of this story!" With a glare to Obi-Wan she stormed out.

Bail stood up, flustered.

"You'd better follow her." Obi-Wan said.

"I still need to speak with you," Bail said, looking anxiously to the exit.

"We will do it tonight," Obi-Wan said, getting to his feet. "Now go after her, before she does you real damage."

With only a brief nod of acknowledgement Bail rushed out.

Obi-Wan turned immediately to Anakin's hiding place, walking around the containers. He couldn't quite believe what had happened, couldn't believe his luck. It was as if the very Force itself were colluding with him. And something about the boy had changed. He had felt an enormous shift a few moments before. It had taken his breath away. "Anakin I-"

He stopped dead. "Anakin!"

The young man was slumped, as if unconscious, on the floor, blood oozing from his forehead and eyes closed. His face was a deathly shade of grey.

Obi-Wan was down by his side in an instant. "Anakin?" The boy's Force signature was there, albeit weakened. His pulse under Obi-Wan's hand was erratic. Obi-Wan gingerly touched the wound on Anakin's head. It was not deep, he had banged his head but that was obviously not the reason for his collapse. Using the Force Obi-Wan carefully probed the rest of Anakin's body. He was uninjured, physically, but very weak. Then Obi-Wan reached into Anakin's subconscious.

What he found caused a sudden unfamiliar, overwhelming rush of panic. No. This could not have happened.

It was not supposed to happen yet.

He knew Anakin was strong, but he had been careful. The boy was familiar with the dark side, even if he may not have acknowledged it by name. It should not have been Anakin's instinct to reject it, to fight its advance. Obi-Wan knew that for a Jedi the stress of such an internal battle was potentially fatal, but he had never imagined it to be a real danger. He himself had not fought it all those years ago. Quite the opposite in fact - he had welcomed the darkness, surrendered easily to its black embrace.

Anakin's presence in the Force began to flicker, like a candle flame vulnerable to the slightest gust of wind. In an instant it could be extinguished. Panic rising, Obi-Wan let out a string of curses in every language he knew. Anakin believed everything he had told him, totally and utterly. He had felt it. So what hidden part of Anakin had tried to fight? It didn't make any sense.

And then with a shift of his mind Obi-Wan was sat somewhere else. _A cold, dark, generator room, the hum of electricity filling the air. He crouched over another dying figure, wondering how he had got to this point, to this utter betrayal, an act so close to murder he may have well have dealt the killing blow. Hating himself. Drowning in desperation because there was no going back, no redemption. Because he had led his Master here, to his death, quite willingly, and even as he saw the look of realisation and sorrow on the older man's face, he did not regret it..._

_No_. Clawing himself back into the present, Obi-Wan repeated the denial. _No_. This situation was nothing like that. Anakin was not going to die.

He had to help him. But he could not. The Force was curled tightly around the boy. Impenetrable. He could not reach inside, only detect the glimmers of Anakin radiating through the barrier. His life force was very weak.

"Anakin," he said, stroking the boy's hair from his forehead gently. All he could think was _Idiot_. How could he have been so careless?

"Do not do this to me Anakin," Obi-Wan pleaded, hoping he might be able to hear. "Not after everything we've been through. The Galaxy needs you."

In his head a small voice continued. _I need you_.

Then Obi-Wan's heart leapt. Anakin gave a faint groan.

The instant the Force barriers around Anakin weakened Obi-Wan was through, finding the boy's dim consciousness in the murky swirling nothingness and pouring his own power into him. _Come on Anakin! Come back…_

He could feel the boys strength returning, but at the same time his own was weakening. He knew he could not last much longer before falling into unconsciousness. With a final burst of energy he retreated from Anakin's mind, slumping down by his side on the hard floor.

He lay there, focusing on breathing, feeling the oxygen returning to his blood, waiting for the grey spots in his vision to clear. Then, distantly, he heard a vague noise. A groan, a rustle of clothes.

"Master…. Obi-Wan…?" Anakin murmured.

Obi-Wan sat up abruptly, ignoring the rush of dizziness. "Anakin! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Anakin said, looking up at him sleepily.

Obi-Wan scanned his apprentice's face carefully. The colour had returned to his cheeks, the sparkle was back in his eyes, more intense than Obi-Wan remembered seeing in a while. And he had changed, somehow, in some other way. Obi-Wan could not quite sure how - it was… elusive. He had a vague sense that he should be concerned about something but his mind was fuzzy, his memory shot to pieces. He was too weary to reach into the Force to find out any more. For the moment it was sufficient that Anakin was alive. "I thought I'd-" he started.

"No," Anakin interrupted. "You saved me."

"Are you injured? I remember you feeling so weak…"

"Actually, I feel fantastic."

Then the memory hit Obi-Wan like a megaton battle cruiser. If Anakin was alive, did that mean he had fought the dark side and won? Obi-Wan was bewildered. The tumultuous presence that had been Anakin's emotions had disappeared, replaced by something evasive but sinewy, efficient, and, dare he hope…

"Do you remember what happened?" Obi-Wan's voice wavered with uncertainty.

"Every second," Anakin replied calmly. "And I saw you. I saw who you really are."

Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat going completely dry. The next few seconds would see either his victory or his downfall. If Anakin had not turned, if he had discovered everything, Obi-Wan was as good as dead. In his weakened state he was no match for the Chosen One. He would probably not even be able to reach his saber in time…

"Don't think like that Master. You have work to do. You have much to teach me."

"I h-have…?"

Anakin grinned wickedly. "Now tell me. How should we kill her?"


	17. Chapter 16

"Remember, Anakin. Shields." Obi-Wan spoke under his breath, his gaze fixed on the closed door of the transport shuttle on the parking bay in front of them.

"Yes Master."

With a gentle hiss the door opened, a landing ramp quickly extending to the ground. A few moments later a tall brown-hooded figure appeared in the doorway and made his way with confident strides towards them. The two Jedi walked several paces forward to meet him.

"Master Windu, good to see you." Obi-Wan bowed.

"Master Kenobi," Mace said, lowering his hood, "Knight Skywalker." He inclined his head to Anakin.

Anakin nodded back, acting as if he had not noticed the way the Korunian Master stressed his title ever so slightly more than necessary.

"Your journey went smoothly?" Obi-Wan asked politely.

"Yes, thank you," Mace replied quickly, glancing over Obi-Wan's shoulder. "And I see the evacuation is on schedule. Barely a starship left."

"Just one remaining, and then several dozen transport shuttles," Anakin interjected. "All cargo and personnel evacuated, except of course for the skeleton crew who will remain here, the shuttle crews and our small party of Jedi and diplomats." He smiled. "Hardly a group worthy of your precious time, Master Windu."

Mace smiled back serenely. "And how have your diplomat friends found life in the Outer Rim? Senator Organa played a very important part in the negotiations, I would like to thank him in person. Is he well?"

"He's alive." Anakin replied, still smiling.

"But perhaps we can continue this conversation in the Command Centre," Obi-Wan interrupted smoothly, placing his hand on Mace's arm. "The sun sets very quickly on Tarrabba and it will be dark soon." He steering the Jedi Master towards the nearest building. Anakin did not follow them.

And "Senator Amidala…?" Mace continued, as they walked together.

"I'm afraid Anakin's wife seems to have found the past few weeks rather stressful," Obi-Wan said gravely.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mace said, shaking his head. "She is quite a remarkable young woman. Do you know what could be wrong?"

"I wouldn't like to speculate," Obi-Wan replied. "But look," he gestured ahead, "here she is. You can ask her yourself."

Mace turned to see the Nabooian senator walking towards them, her petite figure silhouetted eerily by the red glow of the setting sun.

"Senator Amidala." Mace greeted Padmé warmly, striding ahead of the Jedi and shaking her offered hand. "It is very good to see you. Are you well?"

"Master Windu. Yes, thank you. It is a great rel- I mean, I am very happy to see you too." Padmé smiled, the expression snapping to her face like a mask.

Mace studied the young woman carefully, surprised by the pallid colour of her usually radiant complexion. He sensed relief in her, uncertainty, and beneath that, something mostly hidden but… ominous. She may be well used to disguising her emotions, Mace thought, but her eyes betray her. Although her grip on his hand was firm, her smile fixed, those dark brown eyes flicked around warily, unable to hold his gaze.

"Is Senator Organa with you?" Mace asked gently. "I was just saying to Master Kenobi that I would like to thank him for all his hard work. I'm sure we could not have ended the war without him."

Padmé's smile became more genuine. "That is certainly true. We are all indebted to Bail. But no, alas, he is still at our lodgings. Working, of course. I fear sometimes for his health, that he works far too hard."

"Then you must insist he join us for dinner this evening," interjected Obi-Wan lightly. "He will listen to you, Senator. One evening of relaxation might not save him from an early grave but at least we will be able to thank him first."

Padmé laughed wearily. "Yes, we must do that Master Kenobi."

"Excellent." Mace replied with a smile. "And of course you will accompany him, Senator?"

"It would be an honour." Padmé smiled back graciously.

"And now regretfully I must excuse myself," said Mace, putting a hand gently on her arm, noticing how cold it felt. "I need to discuss Jedi matters with Master Kenobi." He glanced towards Anakin and his smile disappeared. "Alone."

"Of course. I would like to speak with my husband." Padmé said. She watched Mace bow and turn to leave with Obi-Wan, hoping he had not detected the waver in her voice.

Padmé heard the two Jedi's retreating footsteps, their boots crunching softly on the sandy surface, but she did not turn her head to watch them walk away. Instead her gaze was focused on the tall, black clad figure stood by the landing ramp of Mace's transport shuttle, idly inspecting the hull. Reassuring herself for the thousandth time that all would be well, Padmé took a few slow, steady breaths before starting to walk towards him.

Padmé knew he could sense her presence. But Anakin did not look up. Instead he remained in the same position, half-turned toward her, running the fingers of a gloved hand over a patch of charred metal to one side of the shuttle's door hatch.

"Anakin I-" Padmé started.

"I always found it interesting," Anakin interrupted, without looking up, "that despite our all our advanced technology we can do nothing to stop our starships burning from friction with something as feeble as a planet's atmosphere."

Padmé swallowed nervously. There was something about the cold, quiet tone of Anakin's voice that made her want to shudder.

"But then, ironically, some of the weakest and apparently most innocent things we encounter in life can be the most dangerous, and the most deceitful." Anakin continued, turning his face towards her. He gave her a tight-lipped smiled. "It's fascinating. Don't you agree?"

"Anakin, I came here to apologise," Padmé said hurriedly, ignoring whatever his words meant in favour of the well-rehearsed apology she needed to recite before she lost her nerve. She took a few more steps towards him. "I am so sorry about the Jappor Snippet. I was too afraid to admit I had lost it, I know I was wrong to do that and I'm sorry. Anakin, I know you have been under a lot of stress recently. I just want to help you." She looked at him hopefully.

He returned her gaze silently, his gloved right hand still resting on the hull of the shuttle. His expression was unreadable. Steeling herself again, Padmé forced her feet to continue walking towards him. _This is Anakin_, she repeated to herself inwardly. _It's only Anakin_. She stopped a couple of feet away, reaching out tentatively to touch his cheek. "Anakin. Darling. Please talk to me. Please let me help you. Come back to me. Please" She fought the hot tears pooling in her eyes, cursing herself. Now was not the time for weakness.

"Oh no," he said with a lazy half-smile. "You must come to _me_."

Suddenly, before Padmé's fingers could make contact with his face he grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand in mid-air. The leather of his glove was cold and his fingers dug into her skin, but before she had time to protest she was overcome by the realisation that it was not only her hand that was held fast. She could not move at all. Her entire body was paralysed, gripped by an invisible force as strong as the fingers that encircled her wrist.

"Anakin," she gasped, horrified that he would use his powers on her in this way.

Looking down at her he simply smiled, the expression in fact closer to a sneer. She thought she could see the reddish-pink tinge of blood on his teeth.

And then in an instant he let her feel it. No, she would tell herself later, it was not as passive as that. He forced it into her mind: a black serpent that wriggled, agonisingly, into her consciousness, opening her up to see him, to see his mind. To see his heart. The pain and the terror were such that she could not even cry out; even her breath was stolen by the shock of what she was witnessing: the darkness, the festering hatred, the seething anger and betrayal.

Then just as quickly it was gone. Dazed, she found her vision clearing, her eyes focusing, but then she was standing behind herself, watching a complete stranger press a young woman's small white hand to his lips. Her mind was reeling but of one thing she was certain: this was not her Anakin, her husband, the man she had fallen in love with three years ago. The man she would die for. Something terrible must have happened to him, something so unthinkable he had hidden it from her… but still, how could she not have noticed? What kind of woman did that make her?

Shuddering, Padmé suddenly found herself sucked into her own body again, her limbs numb but unfrozen. She felt a gloved finger brushing a tear away from her cheek.

"Are you all right, darling? You look a little pale," said the man that had been Anakin Skywalker. But his words did not fool her for a second. His tone was as cold and unsympathetic as the expression in his eyes.

Padmé said nothing, concentrating solely on the sound of her own shallow breathing, trying to focus her thoughts. Now was not the time to speculate about what might have happened to Anakin. She had to get away from this man, right now. Padmé was no Jedi, but she could feel that she was in terrible danger.

To her relief she heard footsteps on metal and a few moments later a group of four amour-clad clone troopers emerged from the door of the shuttle onto the walkway. Anakin smiled and shook his head. He bent to press a cold kiss to her forehead and then drew back again, his icy gaze penetrating her, his long fingers resting on her neck. She shuddered as he tilted his head to the side, regarding at her with an expression of alien curiosity. "So beautiful," he said with a sigh. "If you were to tell me now that you are not a whore I might still believe it."

As his cold fingers pressed more painfully into her neck, Padmé felt a swell of panic. Surely he would not hurt her here, in full view of everyone?

Anakin moved his lips to her ear. "I can feel your fear, my sweet, innocent, beloved wife," he whispered. "But do not worry, I am not going to give you what you deserve." A pause, the compression of his fingers fading to a caress. "Not here. Not yet."

* * *

In the dimly-lit Military Command Centre, Mace Windu stood in front of the central holotable, his eyes flicking across the familiar pattern of star systems.

"Casualty levels are higher than we had hoped for but still acceptable," he said, tapping the fingers of one hand on the surface of the table.

"And Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan stood a few feet behind him.

"Still on Kashyyk. The Wookies have taken quite a shine to him, it would seem." Mace chuckled, turning around to face the other Jedi Master.

"It is difficult to believe the war is finally over," Obi-Wan said.

Mace frowned. "I know."

"So are you going to tell me why you're really here?"

Mace glanced uncertainly to the door behind him.

"It's locked."

"I-" Mace hesitated.

"Don't expect me to believe you travelled halfway across the galaxy to supervise an operation that was trivial in the first place, never mind nearly complete."

Mace studied Obi-Wan carefully for a moment before rubbing his temple with one hand. He sighed. "Let's sit down," he said, walking around the table and pulling out two chairs. Obi-Wan walked across the room and sat down beside him.

"The war is over," Mace said quietly. "Peace has been restored to the Galaxy. The Republic is safe. And yet…"

"The Force is still clouded," Obi-Wan said.

"Exactly."

"I sense it too."

"Obi-Wan, we thought it was the war but I fear… a much more sinister reason."

"You still believe…?"

"I suspect it, yes."

"But the Sith have been extinct for thousands of years."

"Officially."

"Come on Mace, you are not one to believe in conspiracy theories."

"This is not a theory. I can feel it."

"Feel what?"

"Obi-Wan, there is no easy way to say this."

"Go on."

"I came here because I could feel an overwhelming surge in the dark side. A convergence point in the Force, you know I have always been able to sense them more strongly than any of us. And it has not happened for a while but since you've been here... even from Coruscant I could feel a convergence centred on Tarrabba, and now I'm here I can sense it centred on…." He glanced to the door.

Obi-Wan snorted derisively. "Don't be ridiculous, Anakin is no Sith Lord."

"Possibly not, but you must agree he has changed."

"He has been under a lot of stress… and yes, he's prone to mood swings and flares of temper, but really Mace, you can't possibly be suggesting he has fallen to the dark side? Right here, under my nose? Do you not think I might have noticed?" Obi-Wan smiled.

Mace frowned. "That is why it makes no sense. But something is very wrong with him Obi-Wan, you must believe me."

Obi-Wan's smile faded. "You are serious."

"I am."

"Then what should we do?"

"We must watch him carefully. I fear he may be under the influence of someone outside the Jedi Order. Talk to him, see what you can ascertain. And monitor his transmissions."

"Spy on him?"

"It is for his own good. And Obi-Wan, there is something else."

"About Anakin?"

"No – actually, I don't know." Mace frowned again. "There is another centre, another focus of the dark side. It's weaker than the first one, but growing every day. And the person who it is attached to is even more powerful than Anakin Skywalker."

Obi-Wan swallowed nervously. "Who?"

Mace studied him for a moment before answering. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine."

Obi-Wan groaned. "In that case I hope you are wrong."

"So do I. But you will agree to watch Anakin? And specifically record any messages passing between him and Coruscant?"

"I… I still do not like the idea." Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead.

"I know it is not in your nature Obi-Wan but you must see the entire security of the Galaxy is at stake here… it is worth more than anything, more than your friendship, more than your morals."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes. I understand that."

"Good. Make sure he does not know we suspect anything."

"Yes Master."

Mace stood up. "Now Cody has promised me a tour round this Force-forsaken rock and I must keep up the illusion of being interested in the tail-end of this military operation. I will see you on board this evening?"

Obi-Wan nodded glumly.

Mace placed a hand on his arm. "Be careful Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you."

"And with you Master."

Obi-Wan watched Mace leave. The door clicked shut. Obi-Wan waited a few seconds then allowed a small smile to curve his lips. Under his robe, his fingers moved to stroke the curved metal object resting at his hip. The hilt hummed under his touch.

"Not long now," he said quietly. "Not long at all."


	18. Chapter 17

"Obi-Wan!" Padmé burst through the door of the Command Centre, looking around frantically for the Jedi Master_. He must be in here, somewhere… oh please Gods let him be… _

"Padmé! What's wrong?" Obi-Wan appeared suddenly out of the shadows to her right. "Come here, sit, sit down." He took her arm gently and tried to guide her into a chair.

"No!" She twisted out of his grip, turning to look up into his eyes imploringly. "What happened to him Obi-Wan? You must tell me!"

Obi-Wan looked back at her with a mixture of concern and confusion. He placed his hands carefully on her upper arms. "Shh…" he soothed, "slow down. Are you injured? Tell me what happened."

His voice, his manner, the gentleness with which he touched her… it was all too much, too reminiscent of how Anakin had once been. Padmé felt herself trembling, her panic and adrenalin-fuelled energy beginning to ebb away.

"Anakin has changed," she said shakily. "He's not the man I fell in love with. He's not the man I married." Her own voice sounded feeble in her ears. Desperate. Weak. "You must have noticed it. Please, I'm begging you, just tell me what had happened to him."

Obi-Wan's expression hardened. "Did he hurt you?"

"No… but, outside, just now… he showed me terrible things – his mind, this awful darkness, this hatred… and he made threats… terrifying threats." Tears were welling in her eyes, her breathing erratic. "I was so scared, Obi-Wan. You have to help me. You have to help him."

"Who did he threaten? Who else was there?" Obi-Wan asked quickly.

"No-one, we were alone… he, well he implied he thought I should be punished for something… and he seemed quite willing… happy even, to hurt me. He seems convinced that I have done something terrible. Oh dear Gods! What has happened to him Obi-Wan? How can we bring him back?" She looked up at him, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"Shhh… don't cry, don't cry." Obi-Wan's hands moved to clasp her own, stroking them gently.

Then Padmé noticed, through the blur of wetness in her eyes, that the Jedi Master was frowning, and biting his lip. And he still hadn't answered her question. "You do know something," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with exhaustion and dread.

Obi-Wan looked at her silently for a long moment, and she searched his eyes for emotion, for a clue to any of this... But still she found nothing. Then, abruptly, he dropped her hands and turned away. She watched silently, waiting for him to speak.

"I – I have noticed certain things," he said, quietly. "Inconsistencies in his behaviour, dark currents in the Force, but nothing like this." He sighed, and turned back around. "I am very sorry, Padmé. None of this can be your fault, please don't blame yourself. Whatever this is, he's hidden it from us all."

"Do you think he has t-" Padmé struggled to voice the words.

Obi-Wan was looking at her intently. "Has what?"

Padmé found herself shuddering. "Has turn-" But still she could not bring herself to say what she suspected. She could not acknowledge it, as if somehow that would make it real.

"To the dark side?" Obi-Wan's eyes widened in horror. "No! I will not believe that." But he spoke as if he were trying to convince himself. And so he confirmed Padmé's worst fears, at the same time as he denied them. "I cannot believe that," he continued, shaking his head. "Not Anakin. I just cannot…." his voice faded, leaving the sentence incomplete.

"How has this happened?" She said in a small voice. "What could have caused it?"

Obi-Wan looked down, closing his eyes for a moment as if contemplating something unbearable. "The only plausible explanation I can think of," he said, his voice wavering slightly, "is that he has fallen under the influence of someone with intimate knowledge of the dark side of the Force. Someone like…" again his voice faltered.

"Someone like?"

"Someone like…" he looked up, and she saw fear in his eyes, "…a dark lord of the Sith."

"The Sith? But how?"

"The Force has been clouded in recent months." Obi-Wan said. "It has affected us all. The Council have continued to insist it has been thrown into confusion by the terrors of war but I have long suspected it might be something – someone - much more sinister."

"Who? Who is responsible for this?"

Obi-Wan fiddled with the edge of the table, his expression apologetic. "I simply don't know."

"Then we must find out." Padmé felt the anger flare up suddenly, cutting through her fear and fatigue. _How could you let this happen to Anakin?_ She wanted to demand. But she did not. Something held her back.

He shook his head. "Believe me, I have tried. When my suspicions were first raised I searched the archives, I even studied the records, official, and unofficial, intelligence reports, even personal diaries, where I could obtain them, of every prominent member of the Separatist leadership… the Senate… businessmen, former Jedi… everyone I could think of. But there was nothing. A began to think I was imagining it all… and now… this… I never even considered this could happen."

"But surely you can talk to Anakin… try to get him to tell you something?"

"No," he said, shaking his head again. "I am the last person to who he would admit anything. Think about it Padmé. Anakin obviously does not trust me, you must see that now, he has hidden everything from me. I have seen him every day, spoken to him every day, and yet I have not even properly sensed the change in him. And now… from what you have described, I…. Oh Gods Padmé, I fear it may already be too late." Obi-Wan slumped, ashamedly, down in a chair, placing his elbows on the table in front of him and putting his face in his hands. "I… I have failed him."

Padmé could not help feeling sorrowful at the sight of a man she had always considered strong in such a state of despair. She walked to Obi-Wan's side, sliding an arm around his shoulders, wanting to give him comfort but at the same time not finding herself able to disagree with him. _Yes, _she wanted to say,_ you have failed him. We all have_.

Padmé had always held great respect for Obi-Wan. But for him to allow this to happen… suddenly the Jedi Master seemed almost… weak. Vulnerable. "And if it is too late?" She said. "What then?" Her voice wavered as she contemplated for the first time what giving up on Anakin might mean. Fallen Jedi were highly dangerous. And Anakin was the most powerful Jedi alive…

"If – if he does fall… has fallen… then he could be a very great threat." Obi-Wan's voice was muffled by his hands. "I will not do it, but I will not be able to stop the Council from ordering it…"

Padmé was shocked to hear resignation in his voice. "They will simply order his death? But surely by doing that they will risk their only chance to catch the mastermind behind all of this? The man who by your own admission could be far more dangerous than Anakin has become?" She shook her head in disbelief. It did not make any sense. But her mind continued, with the other questions she wanted to ask him: _And you will just detach yourself from him like that? Thirteen years of friendship, brotherhood, everything you have been through together - and you will simply give up on him?_

"Whoever is influencing Anakin has fooled the entire Jedi Order for Force knows how many years," Obi-Wan said glumly, sliding one hand over the surface of the table. "And has outsmarted us all. But this is about more than just the loss of Anakin. The Republic might have won the war, but we can only begin to imagine what it might be about to lose."

Padmé began to comprehend the scale of the influence Obi-Wan was implying this mysterious dark lord may have. And yet again he seemed ready to just give up, not only on Anakin, but on everything they had fought for. It was as if he had already decided the Sith lord had won, and that there was no point in fighting. Is this what it meant to be a Jedi? Resignation? _Would Anakin have given up_, she thought, _if their positions had been reversed_?

And then she remembered what Anakin had said, on the day he had asked her to marry him. He had told her he didn't care any more: he would break the Jedi Code, he would defy the Council. _They will see my love for you as a weakness_, he had said. _But I see it as my greatest strength_. The light had danced in his eyes as he spoke those words. And she knew in her heart that he meant them. Just as she knew it now. So there was her answer. The Anakin Skywalker she had known, her Anakin, would never have given up. He would have been willing to die for the Republic: it was his duty, a sacrifice demanded of him by the fortune of his birth. But she also knew he would have put nothing above the duty he felt to protect her: his wife. Nothing. Not the Jedi. Not even the Republic.

And with those thoughts Padmé found her own strength. She had been the girl who was one of the youngest and most successful rulers in Naboo's history. She was the senator who had braved numerous assassination attempts in order to represent her people. And she was the woman who had defied her family to marry the man she loved. She was intelligent, she was stubborn, and she was not intimidated by anyone. And Anakin had loved her. Whatever had happened to him, that love must still be there, somewhere. She just had to find it…

So Padmé took a deep breath, and when she spoke, she was confident that she had made the right decision.

"I will go to him."

"What?" Obi-Wan looked up at her.

"Anakin has already told me far more than he has admitted to you. He obviously does not see me as a threat. I will carry a recording device. If I can get him to give me more information then we may have a small chance of finding who has been influencing him."

"Don't be ridiculous, he could kill you."

"I know. But this may be our only chance to save the Republic, to save everything we've been fighting for. I am prepared to take that risk."

"Well I'm not."

"I don't recall asking your permission."

"Padmé, please…"

"Obi-Wan, you know this makes sense." She frowned, setting her mouth into a hard line. It was an expression that many senators, diplomats and numerous Jedi, knew all too well. It meant that Senator Amidala had made her decision, and no one would be able to stop her. As Obi-Wan studied her face she could see that he knew it too.

"We are running out of time," he said quietly. "You will need to do it tonight." A myriad of emotions flickered across his face.

"On board the Command Ship?"

He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

"Do you have a secure comm. unit?"

Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand, closing his eyes for a moment before getting to his feet. He walked silently across the room to a set of cabinets and slid open a drawer. Crossing the room back to Padmé he took her hand, opened it and dropped a fingernail-sized metal object into her palm. "It will work through several layers of clothing. Keep it hidden. He turned his own palm to show her an identical unit. "I will keep this on me at all times. The channel is completely secure…" His voice trailed off, and still he avoided eye contact.

"When should I leave?"

"As soon as you can. I will send Anakin to you once he has finished his duties here. I will follow shortly after. The ship is bursting with clone troopers. I will be listening, so at the first sign of danger you must ask for help. They are under my command and will obey me without question. Do not take any unnecessary risks."

Padmé could not stand how coldly he was suddenly acting towards her. "Obi-Wan, look at me, please. As individuals we are insignificant compared to this problem. You know I have to do this, for the sake of democracy."

His expression was unreadable as his eyes finally met hers. But the next second she found herself in his arms, not aware whether it was her who had flown to his embrace or him who had moved to her. His hand stroked her hair, his fingers sliding through it and then drifting over her neck to lie at her throat. Although his touch was as gentle as ever, the position of his fingers was nearly identical the manner in which Anakin had touched her earlier. She shuddered, feeling a cold sliver of fear run over her body.

Then, stubbornly, she pushed it away, pressing her cheek into Obi-Wan's robe and closing her eyes, feeling the pressure of his lips through her hair as he kissed the top of her head. She hoped Obi-Wan would forgive her for lying to him.

She certainly felt no regret for doing so: it had become obvious during their conversation that he would not understand how she was feeling, what she needed to do. Padmé might have lived her life in public service, but she was no Jedi: her love for Anakin had been and still was greater than anything she had ever felt. She certainly intended to try her hardest to find out the identity of this mysterious dark lord of the Sith. But that was not the real reason she would be going to Anakin tonight.

No, Padmé would certainly not give up on the Republic lightly. But she was prepared to die before she gave up on her husband.

* * *

Dormé stood in the shadows by the doorway and watched Padmé and Obi-Wan embrace. She had not caught their conversation but the couple's body language was clear enough. Padmé was obviously seeking comfort in the arms of her husband's friend. _Perhaps_, Dormé thought, _she is already his lover._ And so it would seem that Obi-Wan had got what he desired. Was it love? Obsession? Dormé did not know. She knew only that Obi-Wan had never been interested in her. She had never been the one he wanted. He had only ever wanted Padmé.

Of course Dormé could be quite certain that the young senator did not know the truth about Obi-Wan. And Dormé's conscience told her she should warn Padmé. But she also knew she would not. And she could try to tell herself that it was too late: that her preparations had been made; her escape plan was in place. That in two hours' time she would be piloting her own transport shuttle away from the Tarrabba system, away from Padmé and away from Obi-Wan. But the real reason for her silence was not a matter of logistics. It was a matter of the sharp, cold, painful stab of emotion that was currently piercing her heart, as she watched him tenderly stroke Padmé's neck, and bend to kiss her hair.

Because, even after everything Obi-Wan had done, Dormé still wished that the woman he was holding in his arms was not Padmé, but her.


	19. Chapter 18

Obi-Wan exhaled a satisfied breath, his gaze resting calmly on the view in front of him. Ahead, the ocean was a bland grey mass, broken by fading reflections of pink and orange from the rapidly-darkening sky. Above, the pinpoints of light that mapped out the galaxy beyond were blinking into existence, one by one. Around him, the Force was quiet. Dark.

Right.

He knew now, with certainty, that he would not fail. Every single one of his plans had ended in success: whether carefully orchestrated over years or hastily improvised in a few seconds, it had not seemed to matter. And his greatest achievement, the culmination of all of this, was now a tangible reality.

_When you are ready to claim the mantle of Dark Lord as your own, you must do so by eliminating me_. The words echoed in his memory, hollow with age. And so he had, in his haste. In his naivety. And then he had been alone.

Alone. He had been alone for so long. Fifteen years. To be amongst so many and yet hidden: it was worse than being stranded in a desert, adrift on an ocean, or banished into deep space. It was worse than death. But his fate had been bound to him, and the Force had told him to wait.

And now his patience had been rewarded. The Force had placed its trust in him, and he would rule his Empire with Anakin by his side. It was almost difficult to believe, sat here, alone, on the small black strip of sand between rocks and sea, that after all these years of waiting, Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi's much lauded Chosen One, would be instrumental in their extinction. And for Anakin to fall as he had, so rapidly, to survive, and to perceive Obi-Wan, to accept him, with no notion of the web of deceit that had led him there; that in itself was a small miracle. Such good fortune might a few years ago have led Obi-Wan to suspicion, or at least to exercise caution. But he had been weak then, uncertain, still softened by pain, guilt, and the other raw emotions he no longer remembered. Now - well now it simply seemed to be another confirmation of his rightful place, of his destiny.

Soon the boy and his abilities would be bound to the Sith, and to Obi-Wan, forever. One small act separated Anakin from full indoctrination into the Order. Obi-Wan had been amused by Padmé's hasty abandonment of all concern for her husband when it became clear that her precious Republic was at stake. She was beautiful, yes, but fallible, like the rest of them. Feeble too. Not capable of taking enough pain to be interesting. And, of course, too distracting for his apprentice. How happy she had been, to think herself capable of dying a martyr. But Obi-Wan could sense that she did not really believe she was going to die. At the end she would beg and she would plead, but right until the last minute she would deny to herself that it could happen. Would Anakin draw that moment out? Would he, like Obi-Wan, enjoy the disbelief and then horror that would flicker across his victim's face when she realised the inevitable?

Unfortunately, it seemed unlikely that Obi-Wan would be in time to see it for himself. A handful of matters needed to be dealt with before he could follow Anakin to the command ship. One distasteful. One irritating. And then one which Obi-Wan, along with the elegantly-curved weapon that had been his only companion for the last fifteen years, anticipated with great pleasure. As for the rest of the Jedi? A single order would take care of them. All eighteen of the Republic's main command ships had secretly been equipped for the task. And Obi-Wan had overseen the clones' design himself; there would no question of their loyalty. Nothing could stand in his way.

Glancing upwards, Obi-Wan noticed the sky was now almost black, distinguishable from the ocean only by the ripples which roughened the surface of the water. Around him, the air was chilling rapidly. But Obi-Wan's blood was hot. Power, success, vengeance, Anakin, they all melded into the single drug which pulsed through his veins.

Up ahead, he noticed a figure on the shoreline, walking towards him. When Obi-Wan finally identified the Force signature he was surprised. In the excitement of the past two days she had almost slipped his mind. Now, the Force whispered to him, as it always did, that danger followed her. The threat was elusive, flitting around the edges of her aura, almost imperceptible… yet still, unmistakably dangerous. Even a week ago his reaction probably would have been to stand up and melt into the shadows, telling himself to focus, that this was not the time for indulgence in casual pleasures, or idle flirtations with danger.

But now? Now he was free to do anything he wanted; to take anything he wanted. The Force had decreed it. And he wanted her. Now.

And so he would take her.

* * *

Dormé hugged the thick coat around her body as she walked. Padmé had gone, leaving for Mace's ship ahead of the small diplomatic party, pleading fatigue and a need, for once, to be unsociable. And that was it. Dormé had made a flimsy excuse to remain behind and supervise their luggage, they had bidden their brief goodbyes and now she would never see the senator again.

She really should, right now, be boarding her own shuttle, flying towards her rendezvous with the civilian transport ship. From there she would make her way to the small insignificant desert planet that would be home to her first real freedom.

But she was not doing that. Instead, she was here, the sand soft under her feet, the cold air on her face, her mind full of unanswered, unwelcome questions, and her emotions in a tumultuous mess. She didn't know why she'd made that impulsive turn, that sudden decision to take the harbour path. Later, if she had been superstitious, she might have entertained the notion that something had drawn her towards the beach. The Force, or whatever you wanted to call it. Whatever _he_ would call it.

But Dormé had no time for hokey religions. She did not believe in fate. She could not afford that luxury. No, she trusted herself, and she trusted the blaster that was stuffed into the inside pocket of her coat. That was all.

When she saw him, up ahead, dark, in profile, seated on a rock, her brain insisted she turn around right now and walk in the other direction. Quickly.

But her body did not obey.

And before she knew it she was stood there, right in front of him, and he was regarding her with that familiar expression of arrogance and mild disinterest. And now, she told herself, she would turn around and walk away.

But she did not. Because her mind was filled with questions. Emotions.

Accusations.

"It was you." She said.

His eyes narrowed at her briefly. The look was one of disdain. Of disgust.

She felt slightly sick. And angry. "You persuaded Anakin, somehow, didn't you, that Padmé was having an affair? You influenced him. You lied to him." Her wild thoughts had only just coalesced to that conclusion.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a very serious accusation."

She laughed almost manically, shaking her head. "I know who you are, Obi-Wan! What you are. You saw to that yourself." He did not react. Her anger grew. With it came a question. "What gives you the right to behave this way? To treat everyone with such… contempt?"

He smiled. "The same could be asked of you."

"We are not the same!"

"Are we not?"

"No." She looked away, down at her feet, half sunken in the dark sand. With all her heart she hoped she was right. But her conscience told her otherwise.

"You will learn soon enough."

She looked up, uncertain.

"You can not feel it?" His voice was calm, his expression passive. "Then let me help you."

"Wha-" That moment she felt it. A heat in her back. Intense. Slick. Dark. Not pain, but a memory of pain. Pulling her towards him. Her eyes widened. She took a stumbling step forwards. The marking… _Diabolus subcripto_, her lips mouthed the ancient name. The mark of the Sith. It could not mean…

"Yes," he said lightly, "You are bound to me now. To Anakin. To serve us. There is no escape."

"No!" It was a lie, deliberately constructed to antagonise her. It had to be.

"Yes." Her back seemed to throb in agreement.

"No..." Her voice wavered.

"You should be pleased. You are the first to be chosen. It is a great honour."

Unknowingly, she had edged closer still to him. Her leg was brushing his knee.

"I won't let you control me anymore Obi-Wan. I would rather die."

He reached out, pushed aside her coat to run a finger along the inside of her lower leg. "That is a shame." The hem of her skirt lifted as his hand moved a little higher. His finger traced the back of her calf. "Because there have been times…" He stopped speaking abruptly, clamping his mouth shut.

"Go on," she whispered.

"I- I can't."

His finger was still touching her leg, lightly now. Unmoving.

"Please."

He closed his eyes. "There have been times when you are the only way I can escape this. Escape what I am. Be someone else." There was a tremor in his voice. Abruptly the hand was removed.

_What?_ Somewhere a small voice protested, _it cannot be true..._ But it was already too late. With just the tiniest trace of apparent vulnerability she was undone.

"Wait."

He opened his eyes again, raising his steady gaze to hers.

"Tell me more. Explain what you mean. What this is all about…"

"No. Not now." His voice was low and hoarse. "Come here."

When she did not respond to his command he lifted a hand to her neck, caressing softly. She felt her eyelids flickering at his touch, her feeble body betraying her. No. She would be free. She would not let him do this again…

Her legs weakened as she sank, steadily, down towards the sand, until she was kneeling before him, and he was still seated on the low rock, her hips trapped between his legs.

"I know you," he whispered. "And I know you want this. Yield to me." She felt his breath, hot against her cheek. His black robe was caught by a gust of wind and swirled around them both. His hands pushed the coat from her shoulders.

If his touch had been harsh, cruel, painful, even, she might have had the strength to resist. But he had so very rarely touched her this way, gentle, fingers caressing her cheek, a thumb sweeping across her lips… she could not fight it. He was right. He knew her. She did want this. She wanted to believe he needed her. And she wanted to be his.

His lips were on her neck, sliding softly, his hands tracing her body through the fabric of her shirt. The small, rebellious voice inside her head still cried out for her to stop. To hold herself back, somehow. To close herself off from him. This could not be real. He did not need her. What about her freedom? Everything she had worked for? He was to take that too? Perhaps he already had. But still, she had made that promise to herself. She had to try and fight. To find a way… _it would be better to die… _

But she could not stop it. His mouth moved over hers, open lips grazing back and forth, the soft scratch of his beard against her cheek. Detached, she heard her own moan. His slow kiss stole her breath, tongue against hers, and then hands, her hands, his hands, slipping away layers of clothing, and pushing her back, onto cold sand.

Kisses, caresses continued. Lips, teeth, tongues, hands. Rough fingers searching for soft, slick flesh. He knew her body; he knew exactly what to do to make her moan; he, after all, had been the one to teach her many of the secrets of her own desires. His fingers were sliding in and out of her now, and she turned her head to the side, half-blinded by the pleasure. His robe was a dark puddle on the sand by her head and the sweet sensations were building but she needed to be closer to him, to feel him. Trembling fingers tugged at the shirt that was already half undone, sliding a hand lower, beneath the waistband of his trousers, trapping her wrist, her palm against the bare curve of his rear. Abruptly, he twisted away from her touch, pulling away to kneel on the sand between her inelegantly spread legs, quickly shedding the lower half of his clothing.

She clung to him when he entered her, a single thrust, one hand firm on her waist, the other beside her head, holding his weight. And she would never forget that image of him above her, a silhouette in the dim starlight, his hair hanging forward, his eyes black and barely visible. And with it, wrapped up in the same memory, was the light scratch of sand on bare skin, smell of salty air, the quiet rumble of the sea, and the desperate belief that, for a few moments, he was someone else. And so was she.

* * *

It had only been a partial untruth. Obi-Wan had sometimes thought, over the past few months, that being buried in Dormé's body, immersed in her soft, yielding flesh, hearing her moans, their bodies moving on instinct, conscious thought forgotten: it was perhaps the closest thing he'd come to truly feeling alive. And occasionally, during those moments, he had considered the alternative paths his life could have taken. But he had never wished to be someone else, because he knew there had never been any real possibility of that. His fate had been preordained, his former Master had assured him of it and moreover he had always known it himself. This was his destiny.

Dormé climaxed beneath him with a gasp then a sigh and a desperate buck of her hips. He sped up his thrusts, coming quickly with a shout, muffled by his mouth on her shoulder, teeth drawing blood. She hissed in pain then swore, and he laughed softly in response, lowering his lips again to suck gently on the broken skin, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. He felt her hand move to stroke tenderly through his hair and he shuddered, pulling out of her and sitting up quickly to avoid the nauseating touch.

Spread out before him, her flesh was pale and insipid in the starlight, her face standing out eerily from the fan of dark hair which merged imperceptively into the sand. She looked like a corpse, he thought. She looked like Padmé.

"What are you thinking?" She murmured softly.

"Nothing."

"Tell me. Please."

He stared at her coldly. "Don't assume this means anything more than it has ever done."

"So many lies, Obi-Wan." She sat up with a sigh, shaking sand from her sweater and pulling it over her head. "Could you not indulge yourself in one small truth?"

"All right." He moved closer, his hand cupping her chin to tilt her eyes to his. "I am in love with you."

He watched her lips tremble, and felt her cold cheek heating under his fingers. Her mouth opened as if to speak then closed again.

_By the Force_, he thought. _She actually believes me_. He smirked. And then he laughed. A cold, cruel laugh. The only one he knew.

She shoved his hand away. "Fuck you."

"Again? Not tonight. But soon, my dear. Very soon."

She got to her feet, hastily pulling on the rest of her clothes, muttering, "after you have fucked Padmé..."

He laughed again, sitting relaxed on the sand, half naked, his legs stretched before him. "Hmm… jealousy and foul language, darling, in fact they both become you." He leaned back on his hands. "But you have nothing to fear. Padmé's body belongs to her husband, to do with, or to dispose of, as he wishes."

Bit she was not listening. He could hear her hitched breaths. Dark, unruly hair hid her face but he knew there would be tears on her cheeks.

Obi-Wan chuckled to himself as her watched her hastily wrap the coat around her body. She was desperate to get away from him, he could feel it. Without another word, and without looking back, she set off down the beach, her gait awkwardly half-walk, half-run. Before long she had disappeared into the darkness.

_So much strength_, he thought, _and yet weakness_. Courage, and yet fear. Hope, and yet desperation. It was such a delight to torment her. Obi-Wan hoped it would not be long before he could do it again.

* * *

A/N: I added some links to a couple of wallpapers/graphics for this story on my profile page, if anyone would like to take a look.


	20. Chapter 19

A/N: I am really sorry this update took so long! Real life got in the way and I wanted to take the time to give this story the ending it deserved. We're not quite there yet, but this chapter is the beginning of the end, the start of the final act. It's going to be a bumpy ride, so hold onto your hats...

* * *

In a murky alleyway in the central area of the Republic military base, Wil Roden tilted his head back against the cold duracrete wall, closing his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing. _Any minute now. It could happen any minute…  
_  
Around the corner and a little down the street was the entrance to the cantina where earlier in the day, he, Wil Roden, Brentaalian ambassador to Coruscant, diplomat, peacemaker and gentleman, had pledged to carry out an act that was punishable by the death penalty in over one thousand systems.

And inside that cantina, right now, was the man he had vowed to kill.

To _murder_.

Opening his eyes, Roden raised his right arm and held the blaster up in front of his face, noticing that the slim fingers wrapped around the weapon's grip were white with tension. Roden had lived a sheltered life of privilege and protection. In his twenty-six years he had only held a blaster a handful of times, and never had he fired one. Now his hand shook at the prospect, and his stomach churned with dread. But Roden knew he had to kill Bail Organa tonight. By tomorrow it would be too late. The senator would be back on Coruscant, basking in the glory that was not rightfully his, and enjoying the one thing Roden was not prepared to let him have.

The woman he did not deserve.

Padmé.

_Padmé. I am doing this for her_, Roden thought, _I must remember that_. Just the very idea of Padmé with a man other than himself made his soul ache and his fine skin flush with the sheer unfairness of it all.

Yes, Bail's death, in itself, would be a matter of great personal celebration. But right at this moment Roden wished with every cell in his body that he were not the one hiding in a miserable, dingy alleyway in some Force-forsaken planet of the Outer Rim, charged with the task of making that death a reality.

Pulling himself out of his reverie with a shudder, Roden blinked and turned his head to the right. Over there, across the other side of the partially-lit street, the alleyway continued, the entrance gaping like a black mouth against the light grey walls of the adjacent buildings. Somewhere in there, Obi-Wan was waiting. Or at least, that was where the Jedi had promised to wait. Roden, however, got the distinct sense that in this, he was alone. Maybe it was some sort of trial, some sort of test. He would not be surprised. If the corruption in the Senate ran as deep as Kenobi had hinted, there may very soon be a need for men who could hold to their word. Men of action. Men of resolve. Maybe this was the chance for Roden to prove his worth, once and for all. In any case he had made a promise. He could not back out now. Roden just hoped he wouldn't have to wait much longer, because the more time passed, the more nervous he grew.

Suddenly, he heard the creak of a door, followed quickly by the sound of muffled music and laughter. Carefully, he edged closer to the corner of the building and peered round. No. Not him. A group of three women tumbled out of the door, talking loudly, obviously drunk. Realising he had been holding his breath, Roden it out again and edged back into the safety of the shadows, silently repeating the advice Obi-Wan had given him as he placed the blaster in his hand.

_Surprise is your greatest weapon. Wait to act and then act decisively. Do not hesitate. Aim for his chest. One good shot is all you need...  
_  
The next time Roden heard the cantina door open he tilted his head around the corner and was greeted by the sight of a tall figure bending down to embrace a red-haired girl in the doorway.

_That's him!_ Roden thought. Then the couple stepped out of the doorway together and Roden quickly began to panic. He had assumed Organa would be alone! What was he going to do if… But no, the senator disentangled himself from the young woman, kissed her hand and turned in the direction of the alleyway. The girl's light laughter drifted across the dusty air as Roden slid quickly back out of sight, heart thumping.

_Surprise is your greatest weapon...  
_  
Roden knew he needed to get Bail out of the relatively bright street, and here, into the shadows, where he could do the deed without risk of an audience. The senator's steady footfalls were audible now. Then, immediately to his right, a long shadow slipped along the sandy surface of the street, quickly followed by the imposing figure of the man himself.

Roden took a deep breath.

_Wait to act and then act decisively. Do not hesitate…  
_  
"Senator Organa!"

* * *

From his position at the other side of the street, Obi-Wan watched Bail Organa disappear into the alleyway where Roden was hiding. A small smile of satisfaction curved the former Jedi's lips. Whether Roden killed Bail, or Bail killed Roden, it didn't really matter to Obi-Wan.

Of course, if he were very fortunate, they might actually both succeed in killing the other. But Obi-Wan doubted it; even if he had seen personally that both were adequately armed tonight, neither of the two diplomats was used to combat.

A few moments later a single blaster shot rang out in the darkness, followed by shouting, and the sounds of a scuffle. Two voices still. Blasted idiots! Too much noise, they would be attract too much attention… Deftly palming his silver Jedi lightsaber hilt, Obi-Wan took a quick glance down the street before moving swiftly across it and plunging into the darkness beyond.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the dimness he saw it: a body crumpled at the bottom of the wall, groaning faintly in pain. It was Roden. The man's leg was partially blasted away, and blood was leaking thickly onto the ground. A quick glance in the opposite direction ascertained Bail was injured too, although Obi-Wan couldn't make out exactly what was wrong with him. Broad shoulders heaving in the effort of breathing, the senator was slumped at the other side of the alleyway, facing away from them both, leaning heavily against the wall.

Obi-Wan assessed the situation quickly and moved silently to Roden, ignoring the man's listless whimpers and erratic, shallow breathing. Obi-Wan did not need to use the Force to determine the Brentaliaan was mortally wounded; it was obvious just by sight that he would bleed to death within a few minutes. Without hesitation Obi-Wan removed the blaster hanging from Roden's limp fingers and swiftly fired a shot into Bail's back. With a scream the senator fell to the floor.

As Obi-Wan wiped the blaster on his robe and placed it back into Roden's hand, he heard distant footsteps.

"Help me," Bail ground out, loud breaths echoing hollowly between the dark walls.

The footsteps came nearer. Two people. Soldiers, Obi-wan recognised the steadiness of their gait. Instinctively, he backed away from Roden's body, further into the shadows, dipping completely out of sight, then finally turning and heading quickly down the path that led right around the adjacent building.

A few seconds later two clone troopers paused by the entrance to the alleyway.

"Help," Bail grunted again.

"There's someone down there," one trooper said to the other. "Who's there?"

"Bail Organa of Alderaan," came the increasingly weak reply. "Someone tried to kill me."

The clone troopers rushed in and to his side quickly. "Are you alright sir?"

Bail groaned and shook his head, words beyond him now as the pain became too much to bear. Then, through unfocused eyes, he saw the vague image of a long shadow cast in the pale pool of illumination where the alleyway met the street.

"Who is that shouting for help?" A smooth, familiar voice asked.

One of the clones turned and then, seeing who it was, saluted hastily.

"General Kenobi. It's Senator Organa. He's been shot sir."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Obi-Wan crouched next to Bail's semi-unconscious body, one hand clamped firmly over the blaster wound in the senator's upper thigh to stop the flow of blood. The lower ranking of the two clone troopers held a small scanning device to Bail's neck. "Oxygen levels satisfactory," the clone said, inspecting the readout. "Pulse weak but steady. If we can get this wound attended to as soon as possible, General, he should be okay."

Obi-Wan nodded, before turning his eyes back to the senator's pale face. "Who did this to you Bail? Why?"

Bail's mouth was trying to form words but he had no voice. "What's that?" Obi-Wan said, leaning nearer, eyes glinting green in the dim light. "I can't quite hear..."

Behind them the other clone trooper spoke into his commlink.

"Yes sir. Just two blocks from where you are now. We're here with General Kenobi. The suspect is present too. A local, we presume. Barely alive. Five minutes? Roger that Master Windu. I'll meet you there. Cody out."

Obi-Wan pulled back and looked into Bail's now glassy eyes. _Your lucky day._

A few minutes later Obi-Wan watched as the remaining clone trooper added the top layer of bandage to the dressing on Bail's leg.

"I've administered some morphine," Obi-Wan said. He should be out of it for a fair while. The wound is deep, I'm not sure if bacta will be sufficient. It will probably be better to keep him unconscious until we reach Coruscant."

"Yes sir."

Obi-Wan heard a low groan from the other side of the alleyway, and then faint mumbling . "I hesitated. I just couldn't... Keno..."

Before the word had even been completed Obi-Wan was by Roden's side, a gloved hand placed over the other man's mouth, his body almost completely hidden from view by Obi-Wan's robe.

"Is he waking up sir?" The clone asked without looking up, still intent on his task of attending to Bail.

"No. Just a death spasm, I assume."

Roden's eyes flew open, unseeing at first. When they focused on Obi-Wan, they immediately grew wide with panic.

Obi-Wan's hand pressed harder into the white flesh of the other man's face. "Oh dear, oh dear," he whispered, leaning down to look into Roden's eyes. "Just one simple task and you fail at it miserably." Obi-Wan leaned even closer, until his lips nearly touched the other man's cheek. "You do realise I'm having to sit here, in a pool of your putrefying blood, just to keep you quiet. It's quite unpleasant. I think I've had enough."

Roden's body twitched with fear.

With a smile Obi-Wan drew his other hand out from below his robe, and pressed something cold and hard into Roden's chest.

Obi-Wan sat back and took one last look at the poor fool he had toyed with for so long, savouring the fear that radiated from him. Then, with a tiny movement of Obi-Wan's thumb, it was over. Roden's body suddenly stiffened and went limp, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. A faint glow of blue quickly faded from the wall.

Obi-Wan deftly arranged the man's torn clothers over the lightsaber entry wound, congratulating himself briefly on the decision to have used his Jedi weapon for this particular task. It was quite fitting that the last use of Master Kenobi's lightsaber would be in the cold-blooded murder of a such a weak, pathetic man.

A few seconds later Mace found them.

* * *

"Obi-Wan, is he all right?" They had had their professional differences but Mace still considered Bail a friend.

"He'll live." Obi-Wan replied, from the shadows. "But what's interesting is who tried to kill him." He stepped forward, into the half-light.

Following Obi-Wan's gaze, Mace turned looked down on the deathly pale face of the body laid down at the bottom of the wall. To his great surprise, Mace found himself recognising those features. This man, he'd seen him before... met him on Coruscant, at Senate events, meetings... But surely, it couldn't be true? What was some obscure diplomat doing in the Outer Rim? Mace turned to look at Obi-Wan incredulously. "Roden? Wil Roden?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Did you know him?"

"No, not really. We met maybe a handful of times. What could he possibly be doing here?"

"I have no idea."

Obi-Wan's small smile inexplicably made Mace's skin crawl. He instinctively reached into the Force but it was undisturbed and told him nothing. Then the Korunian Jedi Master's thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched scream.

"Bail! My darling!" A young woman pushed past him, flinging herself down at Bail's side and sobbing. "Bail. Oh Bail..."

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. "Mace, I think this... _woman_ has something to do with what happened to Bail. Can you sense the guilt in her?"

Mace just shook his head blankly.

"No matter," Obi-Wan said quickly. "We must get Bail to a medical facility. Immediately."

"I'll take him straight to the ship," Mace replied. "Commander Cody, can you and your man lift Senator Organa into my speeder?" He nodded at the small transport craft parked at the end of the alleyway.

"Yes sir."

"We'll also need to take Roden's body with us," Mace said with a frown.

"Leave that to me," Obi-Wan replied quickly, stepping forward to help the two clones with Bail's unconscious weight. "Steady now. Easy. That's it."

"Wait! He promised to take me with him." The girl leant over the side of the speeder, clutching at Bail's hand.

"That's not what he told me," Obi-Wan said, regarding her with mild disdain.

"It's true!" She protested, tilting her chin as she held his gaze defiantly. "He agreed just a little while ago." She turned to Mace. "He loves me. He needs me." Her expression softened, her eyes imploring. "Please. You have to believe me."

Mace looked at her silently for a moment. "Very well. Unless you object, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan conceded with a tight-lipped smile and an incline of his head. Mace helped the girl climb into the speeder where she sank down next to Bail, gently pulling his head onto her lap and stroking his face.

"Are you on schedule to leave?" Mace asked, turning to Obi-Wan.

"Yes. Cody and I will follow you. My shuttle is ready and waiting." Obi-Wan secured a seat belt across Bail's body, running a hand lightly over the bandage on his leg that was already red with blood before returning his gaze to Mace. "Just hurry. The very last thing you want is any more deaths tonight."

Mace jumped into the front seat of the speeder, giving Obi-Wan a single long, hard look, before turning to the clone sat in the driver's seat. "Launch Strip One. Quickly."

"Roger."

The speeder swept off silently, leaving behind it a cloud of swirling dust.

* * *

At the other side of the harbour, in the abandoned marketplace of the old city, Dormé walked slowly up the ramp of her newly-acquired starship. Her face was set into a determined expression, and from distance she might have appeared completely calm. In fact, intermittently, her body shook with silent sobs.

But her cheeks were dry. She had no tears left.

* * *

Far above the planet of Tarrabba Prime, well into the blackness of space, the Republic command ship waited; vast, grey and silent. Anakin guided his starfighter through the landing bay doors, skilfully dropping it onto the polished floor. As he popped the canopy he smiled, feeling a cold, dark rush of excitement in his veins.

With confident strides he quickly crossed the large space until he reached the inner edge of the landing platform. The enormous open column at the ship's centre stretched ahead of him. Far below, hundreds of levels down, the starship's green-glowing reactor core hung suspended above the circular ventilation outlet which led to open space. And far above, around the perimeter of the cylindrical opening, he could make out the bright, evenly-lit windows of the ship's living quarters. He strode quickly to the elevator that would take him there. That would take him to _her_.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, on Launch Strip One, the dust of Tarrabba Prime swirled ominously around the black-cloaked figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He craned his neck to watch the transport shuttle carrying Mace, Bail and Bianca shrink to a speck far above him. He took a single step onto the ramp of his own shuttle, then paused.

A silver object fell loosely from his hand. A black-booted foot kicked it casually off the ramp and into the shadows.

Obi-Wan completed the ascent to the shuttle steadily, turning to place his hands on the door frame and take one last, long look at the planet that had been home to the genesis of his triumph.

"Commander Cody?"

"Yes sir?" The clone trooper turned from his position in the pilot's seat.

Obi-Wan's gaze remained fixed ahead of him, eyes glinting into the darkness.

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."


	21. Chapter 20

I am so sorry to have left everyone hanging with this story. But I'm here to announce it's finished, right to the end! So expect fairly regular updates over the next week or so. There's still a few chapters to come, and lots to happen yet. I'm rather nervous about it, and I've worked really hard on it - hope you all enjoy it, and please pay me back by letting me know if you do! :)

* * *

"Yes, Master Kenobi. Everything is proceeding exactly to plan." The thin voice bled weakily over the transmission. "The Senate approved our little bill this morning. Once the media begin to pick up on what is happening chaos is guaranteed to ensue. The people will want reassurance and protection. And I –sorry, _we_ - will be in a perfect position to give them what they want."

The pale, unpleasant face on the screen in front of Obi-Wan smiled, showing a row of neat, too-white teeth.

"Very well Chancellor," Obi-Wan replied, looking away from the image, barely able to hide his irritation. "I will be in touch when the next stage is complete."

"Good. Then I-"

Obi-Wan terminated the transmission with a flick of his hand, before Palpatine had finished speaking. _Necessary_, he thought, clenching his jaw. _But not sufficient_.

Obi-Wan sat back, steepling his fingers and smiling at the logic as he looked out of the shuttle's front window towards the looming mass of the Republic command ship _Imperator_.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small female voice over the commlink.

"I am not afraid of you Anakin. Please. Just talk to me."

There was a distant, cruel laugh.

This night was getting better and better.

* * *

In the understated luxury of a Republic General's bedchamber, Anakin circled his wife like an Endorian boar-wolf teasing its prey. Padmé held her head high and met his furious gaze, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. She was physically exhausted, but the adrenalin surging through her body helped keep her upright, and the clarity of her thoughts compounded her resolve. She had a job to do. Negotiation. Persuasion. She was good at this. And now it was a matter of life or death.

"Have you prayed tonight, Senator Amidala?"

"Prayed? Anakin what are you talking about?"

"As you told me you did, as a child. The primitive religion of your planet requires you pray to your Gods before you die, does it not? To cleanse your soul. Confess your sins."

Padmé bit her lip and tilted her chin defiantly. "I have nothing to confess. I don't know what you're talking about. Perhaps you can enlighten me."

Anakin was growing impatient. He stopped, directly in front of her, and folded his arms across his chest. "Your sins, my _wife_."

She searched his face for something, anything recognisable as the man she knew, the man in her heart. But there was nothing. Just a stern, venomous stare, cold, dead, yellow eyes, and a suddenly terrifying physical presence.

She fought down the horror, conjuring up an image of Anakin on their wedding day. Stood before her, smiling down at her, the sun lighting a golden halo in his hair, his lips gentle on hers as he kissed her…

She looked the monster straight in the eye.

"All I know is that I love you."

* * *

Dormé's small star ship skimmed through the thin clouds of Tarrabba Prime's lower atmosphere, groaning its acceleration into an orbital trajectory. Unwieldy and unattractive compared to the smooth lines of the Republic transport shuttles, this old ship would nevertheless serve her purpose. Besides, she'd not had much choice. Tarrabba was not exactly heaving with this sort of merchandise.

Ahead of her on the small display screen glowed the thin blue line that prescribed the ship's charted route away from the Tarrabba system, in the opposite direction from Coruscant, towards the mid-galactic transport hub where she would refuel and lie low for a while. It was a simple plan, but one that had been carefully reasoned. And now... now she was even more determined than ever to escape the past few weeks. To escape _him_...

Dormé shivered. Once the fog of emotion from her encounter with Obi-Wan on the beach had cleared she had felt drained, exhausted, numb... and then, to her surprise, strong. And finally, free.

She held a hand up in front of her eyes. No longer shaking. She could do this now, she was absolutely certain. She could escape him, and find the freedom she had dreamed of for so long.

But then her eyes focused.

It was a little thing. A thin silver band around the third finger of her right hand, a small blue stone mounted on the metal.

It was Padmé's ring.

Not one of the several pieces of jewellery Dormé had taken without the senator's knowledge over the past few months. No. This was the ring Padmé had pressed into Dormé's hand just before departing for the Republic command ship. "This is very precious to me," Padmé had said calmly. "Please look after it."

Dormé had been so thrown by sudden concern that Padmé had discovered her deceit that she had not really taken in those words, or the sense of finality with which they were spoken. After a few seconds it had been evident, to her great relief, that Padmé knew nothing. The senator was indeed giving the ring to her as a gift, from one friend to another.

Before she knew it Padmé had disappeared inside the transport shuttle. It was the last time they would see each other. But she never thought…

_Please look after it. Goodbye my friend…_

Now Dormé repeated the words, and recalled the tremor in Padmé's voice as she had spoken them, and the sadness in her eyes.

And then Dormé remembered something else. A smooth, cruel, all too familiar voice. His last words to her.

_But you have nothing to fear. Padmé's body belongs to her husband, to do with, or to dispose of, as he wishes…_

Dormé's gaze focused past her hand to the screen ahead of her, and the large blue dot which marked the position of the Republic ship.

Realisation hit her with cold, hard dread.

_All this time… Oh Gods… No! _

Then came guilt. Waves and waves of terrible guilt.

How could she have been so utterly foolish?

All this time, practically since they had first met, Dormé had assumed Obi-Wan was in love with Padmé. His behaviour towards the senator, his apparent desire for Dormé herself, and the cruel deception of his own apprentice, they had all reinforced that belief.

Dormé understood men. She knew how their minds worked, the simplicity of their needs and desires. And if she were quite honest she had even let small-minded jealousy alleviate some of the guilt she felt at deceiving Padmé.

But Obi-Wan was not like any man she had ever met. He had torn her soul to pieces. Of course he was not capable of love! He did not desire women. He desired power. Power over her. Power over his famously invincible apprentice.

Power sufficient to persuade a young man to kill his own wife…

Padmé.

Dear, sweet, generous Padmé...

In a second Dormé knew what she had to do.

For as long as she could remember, Dormé had only ever been concerned with her own welfare. Without that drive for survival she would have been lost long ago to Coruscant's criminal underworld, as a slave, as a prostitute, or worse. But now she was about to risk everything to attempt to save a woman she had spent the last six months of her life deceiving.

It was crazy. It was suicide.

Her only weapon was truth.

Dormé didn't hesitate.

Trembling fingers flew over the buttons of the console as she programmed the new route. She just hoped she could get to Padmé in time.

* * *

Clone troop commander CC-2224 steered the transport shuttle to a steady landing on the platform of the Republic command ship _Imperator_. "Will you be needing any assistance, General?"

"No," said Obi-Wan, running a hand through his hair as he stood by the clone's side. "I will do this alone. Go to the bridge. Commence the flight plan. Then await my orders."

"Yes sir."

Obi-Wan walked to the door. He closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply and readying his body. He had waited for this moment for a long time. Now, the Force seemed to converge on him, whispering seductively of his greatness, building his strength further than it had ever done before. The weight of the object at his right hip was reassuringly, enticingly heavy. He could sense its anticipation.

A slight movement of his hand and the hydraulics of the door responded, a low hiss sounded as the door slid open.

In the hangar beyond, a purple blade ignited.

* * *

A hundred and twenty-five levels above the _Imperator_'s landing bay, Anakin stood a few feet away from his wife, inhumanly yellow eyes boring into her. He smiled. Padmé was trying her best to hide her fear, but that made it all the sweeter.

"So tell me, my _darling_, why I should listen to your pathetic diversions any longer? You know why I'm here, don't you? Would you like a taste of what is to come?"

In a sudden movement he spun around, throwing out one hand towards the large window that formed one wall of the room. The pane of flexiglass shuddered and groaned, then began to splinter, long cracks appearing and stretching from the centre to each corner. Anakin quickly twisted his hand, forming it into a fist and instantly the glass shattered, falling like a curtain on the floor and out into the void beyond.

Padmé cried out in shock. Suddenly Anakin grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, dragged her to the edge until her toes hung over the brink.

"Like this, do you think? Just a little push..." The voice was quiet in her ear but as menacing as death. He flicked his foot and a few fragments of glass skittered over the edge, tumbling into nothingness.

Padmé closed her eyes and let out an involuntary whimper. Anakin laughed. "An interesting dichotomy to consider as you fall: burning in the reactor core or freezing in the vacuum of space? Sadly though, you will not have the choice. Too good for you, my little whore. Both are relatively pain-free deaths."

Just as abruptly as he had pushed her there, Anakin stepped away.

Losing her balance Padmé gasped and sank down to the floor, ignoring the shards of glass that tore at her ankles as she frantically skidding herself backwards and away from the precipice. Right back until her shoulder hit something.

"Not so composed now..." Anakin whispered, digging his knee into her back and leaning down to place a hand under her chin, twisting her face to his. As his lips ghosted across hers she shuddered, tasting something horribly alien on his breath. Something sweet, metallic, and flesh-like. Something dead.

Abruptly he dropped his hand and Padmé slumped back onto the floor. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her breath, her mind, reign in her fear, trying to focus on something else... anything…

When she opened them it was so see he had begun circling her again, his gait just as relaxed as before. And he was still smiling.

* * *

Several thousand feet below the ship's living quarters, in an empty cargo hangar, Mace Windu walked cautiously a few paces behind Obi-Wan.

_No. Not Obi-Wan, _he corrected himself. The man… the _thing_ that had once been Obi-Wan. The Korunian Jedi Master held his lightsaber ahead of him at chest height, the amethyst blade tracing a line towards the back of the head of the man a few steps ahead. Mace breathed steadily, clearing his mind, opening himself to the Force. Ready for the unexpected.

As he had done from the moment he stepped out of the shuttle, Obi-Wan walked casually. Silently. His back was completely turned to the other man, giving the impression of total vulnerability.

Or of unbelievable audacity.

Mace's accusation had been simple_._ _It's you_. Barely three words. Obi-Wan had hardly acknowledged them, merely greeting Mace's blade with a raised eyebrow before turning round and heading in the opposite direction. Mace had been so surprised, he had just watched open-mouthed as Obi-Wan walked away.

Even here, in Obi-Wan's presence, Mace could sense no trace of the dark side around his old friend. Obi-Wan was barely an outline. A shadow. But the Force still sang loudly in Mace's mind. It screamed, in fact. Of raw emotions. Danger. Guilt. Frustration. And more. Horror. A thousand cries of anguish. A thousand unanswered questions…

Eventually he could bear the silence no longer.

"How many?" His voice was even, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of hostility.

"I was beginning to feel a little disappointed," Obi-Wan said evenly, completely ignoring the question. "I was even considering the possibility of making a confession. How embarrassing for you."

"How many Jedi?"

"Hmm...?" Obi-Wan continued walking.

"I felt it." Mace gritted his teeth. "On the shuttle. The clone turned on me and then I felt it. I felt their pain. All of them. How many have you…" His voice faded as he struggled to finish the sentence.

"Killed?" Obi-Wan said brightly. "Ah yes... that." He chuckled. Mace's stomach churned in repugnance.

"Very few, actually," Obi-Wan continued. "But the army…" he paused and laughed, "sorry, _my army_ – have, shall we say, _neutralised_ enough for you to consider your Order extinct." Obi-Wan was still facing away, still walking, and his gait, if anything, had become more casual; an infuriating, horrifying, victorious nonchalance. "In fact the majority have been taken alive, although I use that word in the loosest possible sense. I have a number of uses for them..."

_Enough_. Mace had had enough.

"My Order?" He bellowed. "Was it not your Order too, once? Why Obi-Wan? What do you want?" Mace was suddenly overcome by exasperation, grief, and if he were to be completely honest, anger.

Anger directed at himself. At his own hesitancy. If only he'd acted on his suspicions back on Coruscant instead of refusing to consider the possibility that one of his most trusted friends...

And in response there was… silence. Obi-Wan said nothing.

"Why turn on everything you have ever believed in? Why kill those who were your family? The people who loved you? For _power_? For _revenge_?"

"So many questions," Obi-Wan eventually replied, in that same calm, infuriating tone. The fact that it was a tone Mace recognised with the familiarity of friendship made it all the more sickening.

"I'm afraid it would take far too long for a decent explanation," Obi-Wan continued. "And quite frankly, I can't be bothered. We both know you're here for one reason, so we may as well get on with it."

"I'm afraid I'm here to arrest you Obi-Wan. But it's not too late. Surrender now, and you may be treated leniently." Something small within Mace was still clinging to a vain hope that it was all a terrible mistake. That any second now, Obi-Wan would explain it all…

But he didn't explain. He laughed. "Arrest me? How quaint. But I'm afraid that is not quite what I meant."

"I hope you do not expect me to negotiate. You are well aware-"

Obi-Wan stopped walking. "No, my old friend. I do not expect you to negotiate-"

The attack came so swiftly no movement was perceptible. One instant Obi-Wan's black clad figure was a few feet in front. Then, within the blink of an eye, they were face to face, blades ignited, blistering, locked against each other.

Amethyst against scarlet.

Jedi against Sith.

"Then what do you expect me to do Obi-Wan?" Mace gritted his teeth against the pressure.

Obi-Wan's smile was lit bloodily by the crimson light. "I expect you to die."

Suddenly Mace was flung back by the impact of Obi-Wan's boot to his chest. He somersaulted backwards, frantically swinging his saber down to block the other man's lunged attack. Finding his feet, sabers locked and fizzled again, but Obi-Wan was driving him backwards, relentlessly, towards the place where the hard floor dropped to black nothingness.

Mace ducked and parried blows, allowing Obi-Wan to continue gaining ground, using the opportunity to watch his opponent's every move intently, trying to get a feel for the techniques his old friend was using.

It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

Mace had sparred with Obi-Wan on only a handful of occasions, but he knew – he thought he knew - the other man's style, intimately. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a master of _Soresu_. The third form of lightsaber combat, it was the most defensive. It was a form said to hold its practitioner within the eye of the storm.

But now Obi-Wan _was_ the storm.

He was aggressive one moment - the sinister crimson blade blurring in with speed and striking against Mace's saber with blistering force- then defensive the next - blocking blows at the last second, as if he barely had the strength to defend himself. His every movement deceived. When his saber swung up lightly, when his wrist appeared to flex loosely and weakly, that was when the returning blow hit hardest. When he drove Mace backwards, relentlessly, blow after blow coming faster and faster: that was when the very next blow, the one Mace thought he would struggle to counter, would not come. And then Mace would, for the briefest second, fight for his own balance, and Obi-Wan would grin and still his blade for a moment, as if taunting, teasing, revelling in the other man's inelegance, and his own superiority. And just when Mace thought he understood the rules, everything would change.

Aggression meant aggression now, and Obi-Wan twisted and spun, the red blade humming as it narrowly missed Mace's feet and then his head. Mace sprang back up from the ducked defensive manoeuvre, spotting a pattern in Obi-Wan's movements that a minute before had been a feigned attack. But this time it was real.

And it took every cell of Mace's body to fight back. Every second of experience. Every sinew of finely-tuned aggression.

Mace Windu was the only living master of the technique he had created. _Vaapad_. The seventh lightsaber form, and a style that openly fed from the dark side of the Force. Mace had invented that style to focus his own aggression. To draw on his own darkness, and feed from the darkness of his opponent. Now Obi-Wan was showing him he had not understood the real dark side at all.

The dark side was not untamed. It was not wild, and it was not passionate. The dark side was sinister, and the dark side was deceitful. It was cold and it was cruel. The dark side was not a malevolent black dragon nor an evil blemish in the Force.

The dark side was an absence of anything. That irony was apparently not lost on Obi-Wan, who smiled as he drove his opponent closer to the curved edge of the precipice that dropped many levels down to the ship's reactor core.


	22. Chapter 21

A narrow service pathway ran around the _Imperator's _central void, a thin spiral of brittle promontory clinging to the smooth metal wall. Mace had managed to manoeuvre them towards it, or perhaps Obi-Wan had merely allowed him to, but in any case they had descended, spiralling downwards in a blur of whirling lightsaber blades, faster and faster, spinning, twisting, feet light, blows heavy. They fought all the way down to three levels above the reactor core, where the air was heavy and the heat almost unbearable.

Mace was weakening. He had gained the upper hand just twice. The first time he had managed to catch Obi-Wan's cheek with the very tip of his saber, sizzling a fine line of charred flesh. Obi-Wan hadn't flinched. The second time Mace had not even been able to inflict any injury at all on his opponent, merely using the brief moment to refocus and allow his burning muscles to slacken.

And throughout all of this, Obi-Wan's strength had just seemed to grow.

As Mace fought, he was using the tiny grain of the Force he could spare to search for something. He knew the answer must be here somewhere: the key to all of this, the key to Obi-Wan's fall. Mace remembered Obi-Wan as a boy. Younglings could not shield their emotions, they had to be taught how to do it. Obi-Wan had been a model student. Devoted to becoming a Jedi, and Mace was sure that devotion had been genuine. If anything, Obi-Wan had been too devoted, too dedicated to following every single rule to the letter. What then, had turned such devotion into this?

_Two there should be; no more, no less. One to embody power, the other to crave it..._

No, Obi-Wan had not been born a sith. He had been made one. Someone had made him one. Someone had led him down this path. And so a single question remained.

_Who?_

* * *

Dormé steered her ship to a clumsy landing in the _Imperator's _docking bay, wincing at the crunch of metal against durasteel floor. As the engines powered off she sat back in her seat and took a few deep breaths. That had been – well, surprisingly easy. If she'd not been so tense she would have had to smile. It seemed that her rust-bucket of a ship might have the makings of a smuggler's vessel after all, pre-programmed as was with a set of identification codes - codes that had convinced the other vessel's security system she was piloting a registered Republic cargo ship. She'd sailed right in, without so much as a murmur from the bridge of the command ship. She just hoped leaving would be as easy. If ever got the opportunity to attempt to leave…

_No._ Dormé shook her head and stopped that train of thought. There was no time now for anything other than. Grabbing her blaster, she walked to the door of the ship and pushed the sequence of buttons on the keypad.

Outside, she edged down the ramp cautiously, expecting any moment to spot military personnel… but no, the hangar was deserted. There were no signs of life, no people, no droids, just a handful of ships – transport shuttles, mainly, but also… she swallowed nervously as she spotted the familiar form of Anakin's starfighter at the opposite side of the vast room. Quickly, she looked away, setting her jaw against a rising sense of panic. _Focus. One step at a time…_ With swift steps she headed for the nearest doorway.

Inside the corridor curved gently to her left, smooth, grey and featureless. Dormé made her way along it cautiously, well aware that even finding Padmé in this enormous ship would be a challenge. She needed to find a schematic of the ship – an emergency escape plan, perhaps. Passing an open door on her right she glanced inside. Nothing of interest. Just another cargo room. She was about to continue when a glimmer of something caught her eye. Frowning and tilting her blaster to her shoulder, she took a step inside.

The room was narrow, oppressively sinister and of indeterminate length - walls and floor quickly melting into the gloom just a few tens of feet ahead. It was not the room itself, however, that sent a chill of dread rippling along her spine, but its contents.

The walls were lined, from floor to high ceiling, with storage racks. Each rack contained equipment manufactured from a black material that gleamed menacingly in the dull light. This equipment was undoubtedly _human_ equipment. Human equipment with an unsavoury purpose.

Torso-shaped fittings complete with long straps – presumably for the binding of arms - hung above ankle shackles whose razor-sharp black interior spines would pierce the unfortunate wearer's flesh right down to the bone. Higher still were positioned row upon row of solid black helmets with no obvious openings for eyes or nose: tangles of worm-like tubes hanging instead from beak-like protrusions where the wearer's mouths would be.

Lower, at the bottom of each rack, rows of small black hooks supported sets of circular shiny metal bands. Neck-sized bands, each marked distinctively by a small gold clasp at one side. It must have been the reflection of light from these bands that had caught her attention from outside the door.

And although all the equipment in here seemed to sing out with malicious promises of torture, agony and death, in a way these simple metal bands were the most horrifying of all.

Dormé had seen such a band before, around the neck of a dead-eyed, weary-limbed stranger. The stranger's companion had been a man whose presence even her father would not tolerate: a slaver. The whispers around the cantina told her that this slave was the most valuable of the lot. This slave, apparently, had been a Jedi. The slim metal collar around his neck was a Force-inhibitor.

And now, in this dark room, on this vast starship, in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, Dormé Rashid suddenly felt very scared, very alone, and very small.

Because even if she'd never had much time for the stuffy, over-superstitious and often bureaucratic Jedi Order, she did acknowledge that they happened to be the guardians of peace in the galaxy. And whoever was responsible for the contents of this room clearly intended not only to carry out mass torture of Force-knows how many people, but to control a large number of Jedi as well.

Dormé had a distinctly uneasy feeling she knew exactly who that person might be.

But now was not the time to concern herself with the extent of Obi-Wan's sinister ambitions. She tore her eyes away from the racks and backed towards the door, trying to focus on the task in hand.

What was she doing allowing herself to be distracted like this? She needed to find Padmé. It may already be too late. Even if Padmé was still alive, Anakin was obviously already on board – what would she be able to do to stop him? She was no match for a Jedi – or a Sith. The situation was practically hopeless.

Just as she was about to slip back out of the door, Dormé glanced back at the Force collars and paused.

Little did she know that the action she was about to take would later save the life of one of the two people she feared the most.

* * *

At that moment, many levels below, the man who held what remained of the Jedi Order within the grasp of his elegant black leather-clad fingers palmed the door of the ship's reactor control room open with a casual flick of his left hand. Obi-Wan was breathing hard with exertion, and a fine sheen of perspiration covered his face, but neither the ferocity of his blows nor the efficiency of his parries had faded.

Opposite him Mace struggled for every single breath.

The two men plunged inside the room, spinning around one another, ducking under pipes and dodging droids. No human ever came down here. The radiation level was too high. Periodically an alarm would sound to warm them of that fact. Blades slashed, splintering metal and slicing through glass as the search for contact with the opponent's body became increasingly reckless. Every blow was potentially deadly.

Obi-Wan's saber technique had changed yet again: the finesse of earlier degenerating into a brutal ferocity. And as Mace fought, desperately now, muscles weakening with every additional movement, he still searched for the key to the other man's fall. The person who had set him on the dark path.

It was a crackle of static that told him, in the end. A crackle mingled with the briefest snatch of a recognisable voice.

The voice belonged to Anakin Skywalker.

In the shock of all of this, Mace had forgotten all about Obi-Wan's former apprentice. Down here transmissions would be blocked almost completely by the lead shield that protected the rest of the ship from the reactor. That meant the source of that transmission had to be nearby. Within the ship.

And then he saw a flicker of something pass across Obi-Wan's face. Something familiar. Something human.

Then it made perfect sense. The pieces fell into place. Obi-Wan needed Anakin by his side.

One Master. One Apprentice.

Throughout their combat Obi-Wan had been impenetrable. He had smiled and he sneered, and he had refused to be drawn into any sort of conversation at all. But with that small flicker of humanity came a miniscule moment of distraction, sufficient for Mace to use the last scraps of his strength to catch Obi-Wan off balance and Force-push him violently backwards to collide with a glass viewing screen dividing the room from the reactor bay itself.

The glass cracked with the impact but Obi-Wan was not even winded. He slid down the wall, landing neatly on his feet and smiling a tight-lipped smile and cocked his head to one side, looking at Mace with alien fascination.

Around them the Force shuddered. Something had changed.

Mace steadied himself, gathering the Force around him like a shield.

And he waited. The expected attack, the charge, the barrage of blows didn't come. Obi-Wan just stood there, and slowly raised his hand.

But Mace saw a new, terrifying truth in those crystal blue eyes.

Mace knew, then, that everything about this fight, so far, had been a game. Obi-Wan had been toying with him. Now they were entering a new phase. Now it was serious.

But Mace had already seen it. He had found the key.

One Master, and one Apprentice.

One Apprentice, and one Master.

It was, in Jedi philosophy, known as Occam's razor. The principle of parsimony.

_The simplest solution is the right one._

When the lightning arced from Obi-Wan's hand, a brilliant spark of deadly blue-white electricity, Mace still raised his saber to meet it, even though he knew it would be better to die now than experience what Obi-Wan would do to him next.

Mace knew, without doubt, that for him life would end right here, in this miserable, grey-green poisonous room, alone, and in unbearable pain.

But he had long since stopped fighting to win. Now he was no longer fighting for his life.

Now, he was simply fighting for time.

His only weapon was the key.

The key was one man.

And that man's name was Qui-Gon Jinn.

* * *

In the calm and quiet of the _Imperator_'s principal suite, Anakin studied the slim form of the woman in front of him, noticing with detached fascination how yellow the skin of his flesh hand appeared against the white of her neck. With her back forced against the wall, fear radiated from Padmé, and her complexion was pallid, but her expression remained composed, even as Anakin's fingers barely allowed enough air into her lungs to maintain her oxygen supply.

It was utterly infuriating. Why would she not confess? Anakin felt an unsettling need to hear it, to feel her guilt, to see betrayal etched on that deceitfully angelic face. But she continued to refuse him that satisfaction…

"Anakin, for the last time, tell me, please, just tell me what happened to you," Padmé's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"So that's what this is about?" Anakin replied, lips curving into a sneer as he leaned closer to her face. "You want to revel in my horror? Hear the details of how I wept and hung pathetically to the illusion you would have had me believe?"

"I-"

"Silence!" The anger in Anakin's chest boiled over to rage. He spun away from Padmé and stalked to the centre of the room before turning to face her again and raising his hand, sending out dark tendrils of the Force to wrap around her small neck. "You have said enough. I will not listen to any more of your denials. Tell me now, before you die, that you gave it, the token of my misguided love for you, to _him_."

"No! Who-"

"Liar! Confess it! Tell me how many times you lay in his bed while I waited at the other side of the galaxy, dreaming foolish dreams about my virginal bride. Tell me how you laughed with your friends behind my back, how you told me you loved me, smiling the sweet smile of a siren, how you wanted to wait to give your body to me, whilst counting the minutes before you could whore yourself to him. Was it just Organa, or any senator that took your fancy?"

"No! I would never!"

Anakin regarded the small figure before him in disbelief. Still she denied it! And still there was no guilt radiating from her!

He couldn't bear it. Rage became desperation, and then, abruptly, something else…

"I loved you! With every fibre of my wretched heart! With all my soul! And you betrayed me!"

Anakin dropped his hand as he heard his own voice crack, suddenly feeling a flash of something strange, as if a beam of light splintered for a moment in his soul. Accompanying it was mot a memory but a premonition of something, for the briefest moment, something sweet, something innocent… how things could have been... could still be…

He blinked and shook his head, focusing again on the woman – his _enemy_- half-slumped against the wall, watching him with the compassionate chocolate-brown eyes he loved so much. _Had _loved so much…

_No_, Padmé mouthed the words now, shaking her head, no sound passing her lips. _I could not… I did not…_

Anakin suddenly found he had to force himself to remember everything that had happened on Tarrabba, everything she had done, everything Obi-Wan had told him… everything he knew…

He blinked away the unwelcome murmurings of doubt and tilted his chin in defiance. This woman had spent years deceiving him. He could not let her make a fool of him once again! "I saw him with the Jappor Snippet." Anakin said coldly. "I heard him brag of your liaisons. Of how you meant nothing to him. Did you know that? He was using you, just as you used me."

"No! A-ask him," Padmé mumbled. "He'll tell you!"

"He's dead Padmé. Dead! Obi-Wan saw to it."

Padmé's eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again as words evaded her.

Tears spilled from her eyes as she sank slowly to the floor, shaking her head.

And with those tears the glimmers of light than had been threatening Anakin's black soul faded into insignificance as anger consumed him once again. He launched himself forwards aggressively.

"What? You dare to cry for him right in front of me?" He looked down at her in disgust. To think he had even begun to doubt…

Padmé looked up at him weakly and smiled. "There is good in you Anakin. I can-"

"Whore!" The sound of Anakin's gloved hand making contact with her jaw was a sickening crunch. Padmé screamed as she was flung sideways with the force of the impact, losing her balance and falling, awkwardly back towards the ground.

Anakin watched her fall, his Jedi reflexes stretching the moment into slow motion. Down she went, long brown hair swirling around her body, hiding her face as she twisted and toppled over backwards to land on the upside-down coffee table that Anakin had flung out of the way in anger when he had first entered the room. Padmé's head jerked as it hit one of the upturned metals legs with a dull thump before her body finally came to rest, motionless and silent, amidst broken furniture and shards of glass.

For what seemed like an eternity Anakin just stood there, listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing as the Force churned uncertainly around him, trying to understand why he suddenly felt dizzy with nausea, why he was suddenly overwhelmed by horror, overcome by… _terror?_

And fear. He was afraid. That chasm of something bright was opening up inside of him again, revealing a light within the Force that burnt him and blinded him and screamed that something was wrong, horribly, horribly wrong…

Dropping heavily to his knees, he reaching down, fumbling for Padmé's body. Then he heard a sound. Banging, and a distant voice.

With bright spots dancing in his vision, and the swirl of the Force still making him dizzy, Anakin swung in the direction of the noise.

"M'lady?" A muffled female voice was crying. More banging. "Are you there Padmé? Are you all right?"

Anakin stumbled in the direction of the voice, reaching out with an unsteady hand to palm open the door.

His vision cleared enough to see a small figure dash inside, and straight past him.

"Padmé! No! Oh Gods… I'm too late!"

Anakin somehow managed to find his way back across the room, following the voice he recognised as belonging to Padmé's handmaiden. He half-collapsed to the floor by her side, realising he was barely holding onto consciousness.

"Is- is she-?" He faltered, feeling as if the Force was pulled him back and forth, swinging blindly between one reality and another. Dark and light. Betrayal and murder. Neither was preferable. Both were nightmares. "I- I killed her."

The handmaiden was murmuring something he could not quite make out. He heard the dull impact of his head against the floor but felt no pain - he was drifting now, the Force swirling slowly around him and through him…

"I killed her." As he repeated the words Anakin felt the Force become still, grey and blank, as if he was caught in a long moment of apprehension.

The eye of the storm. The lull before-

Suddenly he gasped and lurched up, feeling as if the Force had physically pulled him until he sat up, wrenched to the surface of whatever he had been immersed in.

Then he was surrounded by blinding light. White and hot. He automatically put a hand to his eyes to stop the pain. He could see, now, see everything in this room clearly. The plain walls, the scattered, up-turned furniture, the large gaping hole where the window overlooking the central void of the ship had been, the shards of glass scattered across the floor…

The small, motionless form of the woman who had been his wife.

Beside her the dark-haired handmaiden crouched, one hand on her mistress's neck, the other smoothing the tangles of hair from the other woman's forehead.

"Dormé? I – killed her." Anakin repeated, his voice wavering, uncertain, confused... "She betrayed me… and I killed her."

Dormé looked up, her forehead creased with grim determination. She shook her head. "No. I can feel her pulse. It's weak but it's definitely there. She's still alive."

* * *

A heartbeat later, down in the bowels of the ship, Mace Windu heard his own voice screaming as the blistering heat of Obi-Wan's saber blade began to penetrate the skin of his right arm.

Forcing his eyes shut, Mace retreated within his mind to escape the pain, frantically searching his memories of Obi-Wan's former Master.

Qui-Gon Jinn had been a unconventional Jedi, admired by many for his power and connection with the Living Force, considered rebellious by some for his occasional unrepentant disregard for the Jedi Code

Mace had always respected and liked the older Jedi, and had mourned Qui-Gon's untimely death on Naboo with great regret.

Mace had never for a moment considered Qui-Gon Jinn could have been a user of the dark side of the Force.

But wait...

Qui-Gon had died on Naboo.

On Naboo, with Obi-Wan.

Only Obi-Wan had witnessed his Masters death.

Then another revelation seared towards him in the Force. It was undeniable.

Obi-Wan had murdered his own Master.

Mace knew he was drifting away from the horror of these thoughts, into the ebb and flow of the Force, detached and free… It was better here. A sea of blackness. Calm, numb, painless…

_No! Too soon! Must. Go. Back… _

With a desperate cry he wrenched himself back to consciousness and the nightmare of the physical realm.

And there Obi-Wan stood above him: a towering figure clad in black, copper hair tinged green by the alien light, eyes flashing with enjoyment at the horror he was inflicting. Obi-Wan raised his crimson blade again and Mace winced involuntarily, not able to resist the need to avoid that pain, struggling against the twisted metal that held him against the wall.

"What did he do to you, Obi-Wan?" Mace ground out, as the tip of the saber hovered by his right arm, just above the blackened flesh stump that had been his right hand. His saber hand.

No reaction. Obi-Wan's eyes were focused on the blade as it drifted to the other side of Mace's body. To the wrist of his other hand. "He showed you the dark side," Mace continued. "He made you what you are. And then what?"

Above him there was a tiny ripple of muscles as Obi-Wan's jaw clenched.

Mace knew he needed to provoke Obi-Wan, to say anything just to get him to open up, to talk, to distract him for as long as possible. "He fooled us all. Did he fool you too? Did you follow him willingly at first, wanting to please, wanting to believe? Obeying him until it was too late?"

There was a low hiss as the blade began to penetrate Mace's skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain and forced himself to block it from his mind, simply refusing to believe it existed. Seconds later there was a light _thunk_ as a mass of flesh fell to the floor. Yet Mace had found his strength. He was beyond his body now. Beyond the physical realm. _There is no pain, only peace… _"Qui-Gon betrayed you, somehow, didn't he? What did he do?

The blade moved higher, to the side of his head. Mace could hear the hum directly by his ear. Feel the heat beginning to singe his skin. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge..._

"What was it. Torture? Rape?"

The blade drifted on, under his chin this time. But he saw a flash of something horrific in the ice-blue eyes that were locked with his. He noticed Obi-Wan's skin suddenly flushed, and his jaw clenched again, much harder this time.

"No." The single word was uttered in a voice surprisingly loaded with emotion. It sounded mysteriously unlike a denial.

Mace seized on it.

"Is that why you did it? Is that why you killed him?"

"Qui-Gon showed me your hypocrisy." Obi-Wan's voice was low and even. "All of you. The whole Order. How every rule written down was almost immediately broken, even by members of the Council. How you pretended to be infallible, and at the same time held desperately onto your status, and your superiority to everyone else, whilst people died and systems were held to ransom by your hesitancy, and your unwillingness to act."

"It is not hesitancy! It's democracy!"

"He showed me there was more to the Force than you would have people believe. He taught me about an ancient belief system, one which makes use of the true nature of the Force, in its entirety, without censure. Without repression."

"Then Qui-Gon was a fool!"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Yes. He was. He unleashed a power he did not fully understand. He was weak. He was not capable of…" Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed and he stopped speaking abruptly. Then blade moved again, to Mace's chest, grazing the cloth of his tunic.

Mace saw many emotions, right then, in Obi-Wan's eyes. Pain. Self-loathing. Rejection.

"You frightened him?"

"I horrified him."

"He loved you!"

Mace watched Obi-Wan flinch, and the blade slipped through fabric to penetrate the skin of Mace's chest. He heard could smell the burning of flesh and feel the pain now, too, but as if it were someone else's body. Someone else's pain. The blade sank deeper, and then stopped.

Obi-Wan leaned closer, until their faces were only centimetres apart

"He hated me."

Obi-Wan's shields were slipping. Emotions were beginning to whip around them, the Force which had been quiet and calm was starting the ripple, then crack as the storm began to surge.

"He hated me," Obi-Wan continued, "and he demonstrated that hate, again and again. In ways that you could not even begin to comprehend."

"And you told no-one?" Mace said, mind reeling from the possibility that Qui-Gon really could have behaved so reprehensibly. Was this deception? Just another one of Obi-Wan's lies? A fabrication designed to deny him the truth? It made no sense. "We could have helped you!"

"No." Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. "You were blind to him, just as you were blind to me." As he spoke Obi-Wan leaned closer still, seemingly oblivious now to the blade that was slicing through Mace's rib cage. "You would not have believed me then, just as you do not believe me now."

As Obi-Wan pulled away, taking the saber blade with him, Mace's body recoiled in shock and began to shut down, as he felt the heat of the blood leaking out from his chest, warm and thick. _There is no passion, there is serenity…_

Mace could feel his own heartbeat faltering. He had already survived far longer in this ordeal now than any normal human being, or even most Jedi, could, and he had no strength left to resist the inevitable any longer.

"Obi-Wan… but Qui-Gon... he could not…why?" he groaned half-blindly, desperately, seeing only through the Force, Obi-Wan within it, fully revealed, a dark and terrible emptiness. "Just tell me _why_."

Distantly, he heard Obi-Wan's cold laugh. "Demand me nothing. The Force holds the answer. You will find it soon enough."

As the physical realm began to fade to grey, Mace's felt the blinding light of the Force beckoning him.

He reached forward into it eagerly, desperate for the truth.

There he found a vision.

There he found the tear-filled green eyes of a Padawan. Alone, terrified, and in unimaginable pain.

It was a vision of horror, and a vision of truth.

He knew the man in his vision had seen it too when the Force shuddered around them, and he heard the faint sound of a lightsaber hilt falling, abandoned to the floor.

And then there was nothing.


	23. Chapter 22

Anakin edged along the floor towards Padmé's still-motionless body, reaching out a gloved hand towards her cheek.

He froze as a blaster stabbed firmly in between his shoulder blades.

"Don't you dare touch her," Dormé said fiercely. "You've done enough damage already today!"

Even as she spoke, Dormé was taken aback by her own boldness. She was well aware that someone of Anakin Skywalker's abilities could disarm her and pin her to the ground in a millisecond if he chose to do so. Yet she was also incredibly angry - at herself for being too damn late, and at Anakin for what he had done, that she didn't care. And anyway, as far as she could discern, Anakin was not much of a threat. He seemed to be in a state of shock, confused and disorientated by what had happened. He was certainly not behaving like a Sith, or like a Jedi for that matter. He wasn't even behaving like someone who was in control of his own actions. So Dormé was not surprised when he dropped his arm in response to her words, and retreated a few feet away to sit on the floor with his head in his hands.

Dormé crouched by Padmé's side and dipped a cloth in the bowl of warm water she had just fetched from the refresher. Carefully, she started bathing Padmé's forehead, removing the traces of dirt, fragments of glass and crusted blood. An ugly purple bruise was already starting to form on the side of the young senator's head and she was still unconscious. Dormé had checked her pulse every few minutes. Every time it had grown weaker.

"I- I wanted to kill her…" Anakin was mumbling. Dormé ignored him for the moment, feeling tears prickling her eyes as she looked down on the serene face of the woman she had failed to save. Somehow, even battered and disfigured, Padmé still managed to be beautiful.

"I'm so sorry m'lady…" Dormé whispered, smoothing the tangles of dark hair away from the other woman's forehead. She wondered briefly if there was the vaguest chance of getting Padmé off the ship, away from danger… away from Obi-Wan.

She sat in silence for a while, lost in her own thoughts. Then, when Anakin sighed particularly loudly, Dormé looked up. There, in his tearful gaze, she saw not the angry warrior from the past few days, the jealous husband who had been wild, dark and intimidating. Instead she saw the handsome young man from Coruscant, the Jedi who had treated her with nothing but courtesy. And despite her horror at what he had just done to his wife, Dormé found herself pitying this man. Anakin had been deceived more ruthlessly, and more horrifyingly, than anyone. Anakin was no fool, and Dormé, more than anyone, knew exactly how controlling and persuasive the man who had deceived him could be.

She had come here to reveal that deceit, but she had failed. And now, she reasoned, even if it was too late to save Padmé's life, Anakin Skywalker still deserved to know the truth.

Moving closer, Dormé reached out a hand and laid it on the young man's black-robed arm. Anakin did not react. His body was half-turned away from her. She could not see his face.

"Padmé would never have deceived you," she said gently. "She loved you."

He shrugged it away without looking up. "No she didn't. It was all an act."

"No it wasn't."

"You don't understand," he said sharply, finally turning to face her. "Obi-Wan knew _everything_."

Dormé swallowed nervously. "What did he tell you?"

"He knew of her affair with Bail." Anakin's voice was weary. "Force knows how long it had been going on. I had not suspected even for a second…" his voice faded out then, and he frowned, opening his mouth to speak but hesitating.

"And now you find you doubt it still?"

"I– I don't know…" Anakin rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking very tired, and very young. "I saw evidence, she gave him a gift… a very precious gift…"

"There was no affair, Anakin." Dormé said gently. "It was all a fabrication. Obi-Wan is not what he appears to be."

Anakin shook his head with a grimace. "No. You're wrong. He's my Master, and my closest friend."

"He _lies_, Anakin."

"No!" When Anakin looked up at her, it was with eyes that were wide and fearful.

Almost as if he knew she was speaking the truth.

Did he know? Could he sense it?

"Yes." She said simply. "He has lied to many people. He lied to you too."

Anakin shook his head again, but more slowly this time. "No! How would you know that? He would not – why would he?"

"Because he-"

Her words were interrupted by a draught of cold air suddenly gusting from the expanse of broken window behind them, towards the door at the opposite side of the room.

Dormé turned her head in the same direction. "Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

Anakin looked up, following her gaze to the doorway.

There the dark figure stood, framed by the rectangular opening, indistinct in the shadows and yet instantly recognisable.

Dormé suddenly felt herself spinning in whirlwind of emotions.

Apprehension. Fear. Horror.

The echo of the desire he had always stirred in her. The shadow of the vulnerability she experienced when he robbed her of her dignity, again and again.

The bitterness she had felt on that starlit beach when he had laughed at her, and turned the fragile remnants of her heart as black as the sand.

And she felt repugnance, too. Contempt for the horrors he had caused, and revulsion for the terrors he still intended to unleash.

But then, as Obi-Wan took a step forward, into the cold blue-white light of the room, something struck Dormé as strange. For the first time she could remember he actually looked tired. His face was pale, an almost ghostly white, a thin red line of a fresh wound cutting diagonally across his cheek. He leant heavily on the arm that still rested on the door frame.

Only his eyes were unchanged. His eyes still possessed that same characteristic deadly blue intensity, and they narrowed with hostility when the focused on her.

"What are you doing here?" The elegant voice was as cold as ice.

"My duty," Dormé replied steadily, holding his gaze, drawing on her bitterness to find the strength she needed to face him.

"Come on Anakin," Obi-Wan said, eventually dragging his eyes away from hers to survey Padmé's body.

When he appeared satisfied as to the extent of the senator's injuries, he visibly relaxed.

Dormé felt sick.

Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin. "I see your work here is done, my friend. Now, I need you to come to the bridge with me. We have much to do."

"Anakin knows, Obi-Wan." Dormé spoke quietly and steadily. "He knows something is out of place. He can feel it."

Obi-Wan flashed her an irritated look. "Anakin. We need to leave," he said impatiently, taking a couple more steps into the room.

Anakin looked up at him. "She's right Obi-Wan. Something is wrong here. I can sense it. Something doesn't fit. I– we-… could we have made a mistake?"

Obi-Wan laughed dismissively and offered a hand to help Anakin to his feet. "Your only mistake would be to believe anything she says. Now come with me."

Anakin accepted the hand and stood up, frowning uncertainly. "B-but… I sense no guilt in her."

"Believe me she is a very good liar." Obi-Wan's voice remained even, but his eyes were fixed intently, warily, on Anakin's face.

"He is the liar, Anakin. "

Anakin turned his head from Obi-Wan to Dormé, watching her stand. Then he turned back to Obi-Wan.

"Master?"

Obi-Wan's smile was designed to reassure. "Anakin, after everything we have been through, you know you can trust me. You are tired, perhaps a little confused, but you have done well. You have achieved exactly what we agreed. You have administered justice in the face of treachery. Now do you remember what we spoke about earlier? Everything we discussed over the past few days?"

Anakin's eyes scanned the other man's face and he hesitated for a moment. Then he bowed his head. "Yes Master."

"Good. Then, with this distasteful matter over," Obi-Wan said smoothly, "we can begin to take our first steps on the path that will restore order and stability to the galaxy. To the new Empire. _Our_ new Empire."

"Yes Master."

"Now, come. I have an important task for you. There are many traitors yet to be brought to justice…"

Anakin nodded as Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan flicked a brief, arrogant glance to Dormé. Then he guided the younger man towards the exit.

As they reached the door the words Anakin had spoken a few minutes ago suddenly echoed in Dormé's memory.

_I saw evidence, she gave him a gift… a very precious gift…_

Dormé was not Force sensitive, but she would always swear she had felt something in the Force at the moment. It was like a silent scream, a flash of heat and light passing over her and through her. She blinked instinctively and then it was gone - too quickly to see, or even to feel properly. But it left in its wake a buzz of electricity that made her skin tingle and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The Sith tattoo on her lower back seemed to resonate with that electricity, throbbing with dark echoes of the pain she experienced when had Obi-Wan first created it.

Time seemed to stretch around her as this happened, and she was suddenly suspended in a pool of clarity, quiet and still, centred on herself, protected from everything that was external, perfectly confident and unafraid.

When time finally caught up on itself, thundering suddenly with sounds and sensations once again, she found she knew exactly what she had to do, and exactly what she needed to say.

Calmly, she took a breath, and spoke.

"Do you know how much I regret stealing that pendant from Padmé, Obi-Wan?"

Both men stopped dead.

"A Jappor Snippet, I think she called it."

Obi-Wan swung around quickly, his eyes registering shock, and to her surprise, the briefest flash of fear.

Dormé smiled.

"Wha- what did you say?" Anakin turned around slowly.

"Padmé was quite distraught at having lost it." Dormé continued casually, standing her ground as Obi-Wan walked steadily towards her, his expression like thunder.

She locked eyes with him, knowing it was wrong to enjoy this moment, but appreciating it nonetheless.

Obi-Wan stopped less than three feet in front of her. Anakin followed him uncertainly, and stood to the side and slightly behind. Out of the corner of her eye Dormé saw the fingers of Obi-Wan's right hand flex. She knew she should be afraid for her life at this moment but she was not. Any fear she felt had evaporated.

Obi-Wan had taken everything from her. He had violated her and he had mocked her, he had injured her and he had used her as a pawn in his dastardly plans, expecting to discard her at his whim.

He had controlled her, once.

Not anymore.

Dormé let her eyes roam leisurely across his face. The distinguished, cruel, and beautiful face that had haunted her dreams in a thousand different ways.

Now, the expression on that face was a mixture of uncertainty disbelief.

Apparently, Obi-Wan didn't know whether to kiss her or kill her.

Dormé felt the sudden urge to laugh.

She noticed Obi-Wan's irises were blue-green now, and piercing, like daggers. There was no need for him to speak. She knew exactly what that expression meant.

_What do you want._

She glanced to Anakin, then back to Obi-Wan, raised one eyebrow just slightly, and then allowed her eyes to flick to his lips.

The muscles in Obi-Wan's face relaxed almost imperceptibly. But Dormé knew exactly what that meant too.

And it was exactly how she thought he would react. Arrogant bastard.

Serenely, she raised a hand to his face and ran a thumb gently along his scarred cheek.

She wondered if he realised what that gesture meant.

_Goodbye, Obi-Wan._

With her hand still resting on his cheek, noticing with satisfaction how his lip twitched in irritation, she spoke again, slowly and apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake."

She noticed the gleam of contempt in Obi-Wan's eyes. So he still thought she would concede to him, even now.

He was wrong.

Dormé dropped her hand and turned to Anakin as she spoke again.

"The Jappor Snippet was far more precious to Padmé than I realised. If I had known I would never have taken it."

When her eyes flicked to her former lover, she allowed herself a small smile of victory. "And I certainly would never have given it to Obi-Wan."

Panic. Obi-Wan's eyes widened in shock, his hand flying to his saber. "This woman is a petty thief Anakin," he said quickly, "embittered by rejection and seeking revenge. She is lying to you-"

"No." Anakin interrupted from behind him. "She's not."

Dormé did not see either man move. All she perceived was a flash of crimson as the blade of Obi-Wan's saber swept at lightning speed towards her neck.

But Anakin's saber was faster.

Dormé gasped as the two blades locked just centimetres in front of her face.

Blue against red.

Apprentice against Master.

"Anakin, listen to me! You must know better than believe her ridiculous story!" Obi-Wan raised his voice for the first time. "She's lying!"

"And yet you still feel the need to silence her."

"I- I-"

Dormé watched with satisfaction as realisation dawned on Obi-Wan's face.

The Master of deceit had told one lie too many.

The Master had been trapped.

Now he would pay.

With a grunt of anger and a shout of frustration Anakin suddenly twisted his body, pushing the crossed saber blades away from Dormé's neck and over Obi-Wan's head, ducking as Obi-Wan spun to attack again. Then Anakin landed a Force-enhanced punch to the older man's stomach that sent him flying across the room and slamming into the opposite wall.

With a loud thump and a grunt from Obi-Wan, the metal crumpled with the impact. Obi-Wan slid down the wall to land half-seated on the floor, winded but unharmed. He wiped a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth and held up his saber defensively.

"You." Anakin's voice was quiet but terrifying as he stalked across the room, pointing the tip of his blue blade towards his former Master. "You lied to me. You deceived me. Why?"

Behind his crimson blade Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, but then almost immediately widened again. He smiled eerily, showing teeth stained with blood. "That's irrelevant now. Can you not see? It is too late for you Anakin! You killed her in cold blood. You are bound to the Sith forever! We both are! There is no escape!"

"No!" With a desperate cry Anakin charged at Obi-Wan, raising his saber to strike.

But at the last minute he flung out a hand instead, Force-pushing the other man along the bottom of the wall towards the gaping opening where the window had been.

Obi-Wan twisted as he flew across the floor at inhuman speed, still-ignited saber slicing a molten line along the metal wall, free hand clawing at the smooth surface of the floor. But he was moving too quickly. Less than a second later he slid straight over the edge and disappeared.

Anakin ran to the window opening, chest heaving with a mixture of exertion and emotion.

A heartbeat later the young man was caught by a booted foot under his chin as Obi-Wan leapt back up over the precipice.

Anakin stumbled but landed on his feet, saber swinging low to block Obi-Wan's red blade just before it could make contact with the younger man's leg. But Obi-Wan laughed as he drove Anakin back towards the wall, the two sabers moving in a whirl of light, too fast for Dormé to see.

"I do not want to kill you Anakin," Obi-Wan shouted as they fought, "but I will if you give me no choice!"

"Ha! You will try!"

"Arrogant boy! You don't know the extent of my power! You have barely tasted what you could become! That dead whore of a wife is not worth your life! Your destiny lies with me!"

Anakin's face twisted in rage and he grunted, suddenly appearing to find an extra burst of power, driving Obi-Wan backwards with a relentless barrage of twisting saber strikes.

Dormé watched in silence, stunned by the ferocity and energy of the battle. The two men fought savagely. This seemed not to be the elegant duel of two equally-matched warriors, but the personal vendetta of two enemies, every slash and sweep of a saber blade fuelled by raw anger and hatred.

And for the second time in that room, Dormé thought she could feel the Force. The two men were both shrouded in the dark side. Dormé could almost taste it. She could feel its power and its swirling gravity. It was mesmerising. Intoxicating. And dangerous. So this was the power that Obi-Wan held inside him. This was the power that had made Anakin want to kill his own wife. Padmé.

_Padmé!_

Dormé wrenched her eyes away from the blistering saber blades and dashed back to the senator's body. Her trembling fingers eventually found Padmé's pulse, barely perceptible. Her lips were blue, skin cold and damp.

At the other side of the room Anakin and Obi-Wan were still shouting as they fought, sabers cracking fiercely in a firestorm of impacts. Trying to gather her thoughts, Dormé glanced to the door. It was open. She scanned the room frantically. If only there was some way of moving Padmé without risking further injury, she could attempt an escape whilst Obi-Wan was distracted. But it was hopeless. There was no way she could get Padmé to her ship alone.

Her only option was to wait for Anakin to win. To hope Anakin would win. And to hope that, when he did, he would want to help her.

That thought was interrupted as the floor suddenly lurched beneath her body and a low, shuddering groan sounded from deep within the core of the ship.

At first Dormé thought she was sensing something in the Force again. But then the lights in the room flickered and went out. Somewhere in the distance she heard an alarm sounding.

No. This was not the Force. This was something else.


	24. Chapter 23

It was only when Dormé heard Obi-Wan laugh that she realised the fighting had stopped.

When she looked up, her stomach turned over with dread.

Over by the broken window, silhouetted by the faint light emanating from the void behind, stood Obi-Wan. Before him, pinned to the wall by a gloved hand on his neck, was Anakin.

The younger man's face was illuminated eerily by the red glow of Obi-Wan's saber blade. The silver hilt of Anakin's saber lay on the floor, teetering right at the edge of the broke window frame.

Next to it was the severed hand of Anakin's mechanical arm.

Then the ship shuddered again. The floor lurched, tilting first one way and then other. Dormé watched her last hope vanish as both saber hilt and arm disappeared into the void.

There was a faint crackling of static. It was Obi-Wan's commlink.

"General Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan was still pinning Anakin to the wall, red saber raised and ready to strike. "Yes Cody," he said, still regaining his breathing. "What's the problem?"

"There appears to be a major reactor malfunction sir. We don't know what happened. There was no warning. The systems have suddenly moved to red alert."

"Is it a real threat?"

"Core temperatures read super-critical."

"How long do we have?"

"Current estimate twenty-three minutes to reactor meltdown."

"Sabotage?"

"The system reports indicate someone with code zero security clearance set up a self-concealing detonation. I've sent a team to investigate."

"Don't bother," Obi-Wan snapped. "It's too late. You will need a minimum of ten minutes to clear the blast radius. Order full evacuation."

"But sir – we could lose the ship…"

"Evacuate your men Commander."

"Yes sir."

The line fell dead.

Obi-Wan's soft chuckle filled the darkened room. "It seems I may not have given Windu all the credit he deserve-."

Obi-Wan's words were cut off into a sharp grunt as he was flung abruptly backwards. His saber powered off and the hilt skittered amidst broken glass on the floor.

Directly towards Dormé.

Instinctively she grabbed it and before she knew what she was doing she had thrown it back to Anakin.

By the time she'd turned to see what was happening Obi-Wan was flat on his back on the floor, a black boot on his chest and a red blade against his neck.

Anakin towered above him like an angel of death.

But Obi-Wan faced the demon with a smile. "Your hatred is beautiful Anakin. You were made to be like this."

Anakin leant over him. "Why did you do it Obi-Wan?"

"Yes… your anger is magnificent, so powerful, so dark…"

Suddenly, an alarm sounded in the room, a sequence of long, loud notes, followed by a synthetic female voice.

"Attention all passengers! Emergency evacuation procedure initiated. Proceed to your designated escape point. Twenty minutes remaining. Repeat. Twenty minutes remaining." The alarm sounded again, continuing on and on.

Dormé looked down at Padmé's body, then across to the two men. Anakin was motionless, saber still held at the other man's neck, looking down at him intently. Obi-Wan was still speaking, but the sound was drowned out by the noise.

So this was it. Obi-Wan would talk and Anakin would listen. And they would die here, together, all four of them.

Then Dormé's eyes focused past Anakin and Obi-Wan to the large rectangular opening behind.

An idea blossomed in her mind, but she dismissed it immediately. No. She couldn't possibly. The very thought… it was madness.

She couldn't manage it.

But it was her only hope.

With a final quick brush of her fingers across Padmé's cheek Dormé scrambled to her feet and dashed for the door.

* * *

Obi-Wan had never planned the day to end like this.

Obi-Wan had never intended Anakin to find out the truth.

Ever.

In this, Obi-Wan had failed.

Now, the General's quarters on the command ship were bathed in the crimson light of a Sith blade. Now Obi-Wan was pinned, helplessly, against the floor, trapped by a strong boot on his chest and his own weapon at his throat, a weapon held in the left hand of the young man he once called _Padawan_.

Anakin loomed above him, an angel and a demon, brow furrowed, eyes glinting with anger, strong jaw clenched as he fought the battle raging within his own mind.

As Anakin's boot stifled his breathing, and the heat from his own saber began to singe his neck, Obi-Wan cursed his own carelessness. He knew he could blame no one else for this mistake. He had allowed Anakin to fall to the dark side far too quickly. Now Obi-Wan's painstaking work was unravelling before his eyes, and the young man was out of control, neither light nor dark, Jedi nor Sith. The Force was a vicious storm of uncertainty, rotating around Anakin like a Kaminoan tornado: dark and menacing, but interspersed with flashes of brilliant white light.

In this moment, everything Obi-Wan had worked for was teetering on a single point of balance. Anakin was a deadly weight wavering between two possibilities.

If Anakin spared him now, it would mean a not insignificant victory for the light. Anakin Skywalker would instantly become the greatest living threat to Obi-Wan's Empire. The solution was simple. As a Jedi, Anakin was too dangerous to be allowed to remain alive.

If, on the other hand, Anakin gave into the demons of hate and anger, gave into the desire to hurt and maim and kill the man who had inflicted so much damage upon him, then with that act Anakin would enmesh himself in the dark side, forever. A powerful Sith Lord would rule the galaxy, and Obi-Wan knew that Sith Lord would be the most powerful to have ever lived.

But that Sith would not be Obi-Wan.

The Nabooians, Obi-Wan recalled, with a calmness that surprised even himself, had a proverb to describe this predicament.

_Inter diabolus Scylla quod altum puteulanus Charybdis mare_.

In ancient Naboo mythology, Scylla was a fire-breathing demon from the Gallo Mountains. Charybdis was a deadly whirlpool that swirled in the blue depths of the Paonga Sea. To be between them was to face an impossible choice.

If only the choice was yours to make.

The muscles of Obi-Wan's cheeks threatened to twist his lips into an ironic smile. Strange, that he recalled that particular saying now.

It was a phrase so very apt.

Except Obi-Wan's sea was not blue, but black.

And it was beckoning him. After what seemed like hours of silence, the weight was finally beginning to swing.

As the balance began to tip, and the Force started to coalesce into separate strands of light and dark, Obi-Wan looked up, half horrified, half enraptured, into the blistering intensity of of Anakin's hate-filled eyes.

Yellow. Venomous. Raw.

When Obi-Wan saw the imminence of his own death, he greeted it with an odd sense of relief.

Relief came from the knowledge that dark side was about to wrap itself more tightly around Anakin than it had ever been before. Relief came because Obi-Wan knew that the moment of his own death would be a guarantee that he had not failed. His objective would be achieved: the galaxy would be ruled by the Sith.

But, strangely, relief also came from the knowledge that while he would die, Anakin would live.

That thought surprised him, and he instantly tried to push it away.

"Yes Anakin. I know what you want." The words were pushed out between gritted teeth, the pressure on Obi-Wan's chest preventing the intake of more than a shallow breath. "I know exactly how it feels. Just get on with it."

Buried somewhere in the depths of Obi-Wan's blackened heart, something was stirring.

_Two of them, there should be. No more no less._

What Obi-Wan stirred was an alien emotion, a sensation belonging to a hazy time in the past. Obi-Wan recognised it now, as an observer, standing apart from himself. It was a sadness, a yearning for something, something forgotten, something too long denied.

_Skywalker and Kenobi._ As Jedi, their names had been spoken together like that, right across the galaxy, for nearly four years. No matter how much of an illusion it had been, for that time they had been a team. Master and Padawan. The two of them. A team. _The team._

But now there would not be two, but one. One of them would rule. Alone.

Obi-Wan tried to ignore these unwelcome, inconvenient thoughts. As for the Jedi, for the Sith attachment was a weakness. And the greatest weakness of all was attachment to another person. Obi-Wan had been taught that particular lesson long ago.

So Obi-Wan forced himself to focus on who he was, and what he was. He told himself that the death of his body was irrelevant. The physical realm was a mere detail. There was something far more important at stake.

When Obi-Wan spoke, with a breath that threatened to be his last, it was not to plead pathetically for his life, but to issue goading words of encouragement. But the words were spoken quickly, and mechanically, before what was growing inside him had chance to take them back.

"I took her away from you. I twisted her innocence until she became a cheap whore. Your beautiful, sweet, darling, _dead_ Padmé. I _hated_ the love you felt for her. I enjoyed every moment as I watched you turn into the monster you have become. And I will enjoy watching you feel the pain of her death for the rest of your pathetic life."

Finishing his speech, Obi-Wan watched, exhausted and drained, as Anakin gritted his teeth and flexed the fingers of his saber hand.

The Force thundered around the two of them, faster and faster. They were at the centre of a vortex of horror and destruction. Time was running out.

"Do it!" Obi-Wan hissed, drawing on his last reserved of strength to force the words past his lips. "You want me to pay. I can feel your hatred. Give in to it. Now!"

Anakin's eyes flashed with blue as he raised Obi-Wan's saber high above his head. The boot in Obi-Wan's chest pressed down, steadying him for the death blow that was to come.


	25. Chapter 24

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. I am so nervous about this! Hope you guys don't hate it :)

* * *

The corners of the General's bedchamber were shrouded in darkness; the room illuminated solely by the crimson light of the saber blade that speared a deadly line between the two men at its centre.

Obi-Wan's eyes focused on the red blade hanging above him, waiting for the final downward stroke that would send him into dark oblivion.

He waited.

And he waited.

Then the weight of the boot compressing his chest receded, just slightly.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan heard his own voice, breathless and wavering over the three syllables. For once the Force was blank, unreadable.

Slowly, Obi-Wan's gaze moved along the blade, to Anakin's face. And suddenly he found himself experiencing the tiniest tremor of...

_Hope?_

The crimson light reflected from the tear that trickled slowly down Anakin's cheek.

Obi-Wan watched as the droplet of water fell into the air above his face.

Then the tear, and everything else, disappeared.

Obi-Wan felt the impact of a single drop of water on his lips.

Silence for one breath.

Two.

Three.

Them, in the darkness, Anakin spoke.

"No. I will not kill you."

Then there was a clatter as the deactivated hilt of a lightsaber fell to the floor.

Air rushed into Obi-Wan's lungs as the pressure on his chest disappeared.

"A- Anakin?"

"Enough. This ends now."

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Obi-Wan lay motionless, momentarily stunned. He knew this must mean the light within Anakin had won. This meant Anakin was a threat, and had to die…

And yet Obi-Wan found ideas and questions and plans and hopes clashing together, sending his mind into a jumbled mess. The chaotic whirl of his thoughts was interrupted by the sharp wailing of a siren.

"All passengers proceed to your designated escape point. Thirteen minutes remaining. Repeat. Thirteen minutes remaining." The siren sounded again. Three minutes to clear the ship.

When the siren eventually stopped, only one thought was left resonating in Obi-Wan's mind.

_The two of them. A team. The team…_

And then time caught up on him and propelled him upwards with a sudden urgency, because if both of them were to survive, they needed to get off this ship, and quickly. The next second Obi-Wan was on his feet, his discarded saber hilt forgotten in haste.

"We must leave immediately," he said, feeling a ridiculous urge to flash a grin towards the young man who now stood a few feet away. But as Obi-Wan glanced up he noticed Padmé's motionless body lying at Anakin's feet. Obi-Wan could feel the last thin tendrils of her life force; Anakin would be able to feel it too. She would be dead before the ship was destroyed. Obi-Wan's exuberance was suddenly shot through by uncertainty. "Come, Anakin. Leave her."

Anakin looked up and smiled. "Yes Master."

Obi-Wan was hit by a strange, confusing and wonderful torrent of emotions when he heard those two simple words. Turning, he strode purposefully towards the door, ignoring the small flurries of doubt that grew even as his self-possession began to return, living in this moment, here and now. Living, _really_ living. "There is an escape shuttle one level down," he said, without looking back. "It's reserved for visiting civilians so the clones will not have used it. Let's go."

Obi-Wan's swift steps took him from the room, and a glance to his left reassured him Anakin had followed.

Except it did not reassure him.

Because Anakin was not by his side.

Then there was an almighty shuddering in the Force, and before Obi-Wan could react, the thick blast-proof door of the General's quarters had slid shut with a force so great that the surrounding metal warped with the impact.

Wheeling around, Obi-Wan raised a hand to the door control but it sparked and ignited under his fingertips. Cursing in frustration, he ran back to the door, peering through the thick glass of the circular window in the centre. "Anakin!"

It was with a sense of horror and disbelief that he saw the young man stood in exactly the same position as a moment ago, gazing down at the figure of his wife.

Obi-Wan pounded on the door. "Anakin! What are you doing? We have less than three minutes to clear the ship!"

Anakin ignored him.

Obi-Wan looked around frantically, eventually spotted the intercom button and slammed his hand down on it.

"Anakin! We need to leave!"

The young man looked up, his gaze a strange mixture of sorrow and resolution. "No. I told you. This ends now."

"You want to die here? Stay here and you will be forgotten, lost, you will have given your life for nothing! Do you want to help me rid corruption and dissent from the Republic, and see the birth of an Empire in which peace will reign for a thousand years? Or do you want to be remembered as the coward who murdered his wife, then abandoned his duty when he was needed most?"

"No," Anakin replied, holding his gaze steadily, although the Force swirled with emotion. "I wish to be remembered truthfully, as one who loved too much, but loved unwisely."

"Foolish boy! You must forget her now! The galaxy needs you. I_ need you_!"

Anakin laughed through tears. "I loved _you_, Obi-Wan. You were my brother. My father. My closest friend…"

"Then come with me now! Join me. It is your destiny! We are the same, you and I, I can teach you to-"

"No! You may have torn out my heart, but I am nothing like you, Obi-Wan. I don't even understand what you are. I only wish I'd had the strength to kill you when I had the chance. Now leave - do what you have to do, or stay, and die. I don't care. My place is here, with my wife."

Obi-Wan watched, aghast, as Anakin turned away and fell to his knees by Padmé's side. Lifting her hand to his lips he kissed it gently. Then, slowly, he crawled over her, pulling her limp body into his arms.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried out, reaching to his belt for his saber. It would take a few minutes, but he should be able to cut through the door. He'd drag Anakin out if he had to...

But his fingers found only empty space.

His saber was still inside the room, with Anakin.

"Anakin!" He cried out again, banging on the door with his fists, voice breaking down to a sob over the single word. "Listen to me! Ana-"

With a raise of Anakin's hand, the intercom crackled, and went dead.

Obi-Wan swooned, slumping against the door, fingers clawing at it as he slid to the floor. Suddenly, in that darkened corridor, it was as if the entire galaxy was collapsing around him. His strength just crumbled away. And there he was left, alone and vulnerable. Immediately, vicious memories that had been carefully suppressed by years of effort flooded back into his consciousness, each one as raw and painful as if it had occurred just yesterday.

A long time ago, a Padawan had suffered as no one should ever suffer. He had experienced some of the greatest pain imaginable. He had flung himself, headlong,into the darkness. Only the dark side of the Force could subdue his pain, to make it a vague shadow of a memory, as if it had been experienced by someone else.

Now he felt it again, a thousand times over, and he heard his own voice screaming, as he had screamed then.

Time melted into incoherence as Obi-Wan lay outside the door, stricken and blind, confused and out of control. He had lost everything, everything was gone, everything he had never even admitted to himself that he needed. Now, far too late, he saw the truth.

The truth, that his one remaining fear was to be alone.

To continue, to live, alone.

Nothing mattered. Obi-Wan just wanted death, and finality, and the endless, terrible pain to stop. Now.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the Imperator's power core, the seconds ticked relentlessly onwards, and the trickle of subatomic particles dancing within it grew steadily, irrepressibly, towards a cascade.

A cascade that would become a torrent.

A torrent that would become an ignition.

An ignition that would release enough energy to reduce the ship to nothing but a massless cloud of shimmering light and heat.

The pulsing green glow of the reactor started to turn yellow, and then a dangerous white.

* * *

Lost.

Obi-Wan was lost, stumbling blindly within the fever of his own breakdown. Eyes tightly closed, he had retreated inwards, the only sense of his own body coming from the coolness of the corridor floor against his cheek.

Even though he had never allowed himself the admission, buried deep within the hidden reaches of Obi-Wan's heart had been a connection to himself. To the real Obi-Wan Kenobi. To the man he had been, before Qui-Gon had taken away his innocence, his honesty, his dignity and his freedom, and replaced them with pure hate.

Anakin had been there, on Naboo. They had met just before Obi-Wan had taken the final, desperate measure that would bind him to the Sith forever. The step that would trade damnation for immunity. Darkness for oblivescence. But Obi-Wan had not managed to let go of the past completely, because Anakin had been his connection to it, ever since.

Somehow, Anakin was the connection to a time when he lived without nightmares. To a distant time, a time of innocence, and laughter and dreams. Of a Padawan who was virtuous, and honest, and far too eager to please.

Tightly buried inside Obi-Wan was a grain of that man. There had never been any question of redemption, of course - of some fanciful ascension from the dark side to the light. Obi-Wan had hated too much, and hurt too much, and resented and loathed the Jedi Order to have any desire or need to return.

But Anakin…

Anakin would have made the darkness bearable. Anakin would have shared his nightmares. Anakin would have helped him understand his pain.

That small grain of a man wished he had the strength to rip down the door that now separated them, so he could crawl to his friend and die at his side.

But he could not. With the impact of metal on metal, Anakin had taken his last hope away.

Within Obi-Wan, that grain of goodness glowed brightly and fizzled for a moment.

Then the light burnt out, and it was gone.

* * *

Steadily and silently, the Republic ship _Imperator_ glided on its course, intermittently shedding transport shuttles into the blackness of deep space. On the bridge, Clone Commander Cody watched the bank of control screens before him with a frown. His task was complete: all surviving crew and passengers had been evacuated. With a grimace Cody pushed the sequence of buttons that would write the datafiles from the control system memory onto the datacard he had just slipped into the socket on the console. It was actually the commanding officer's duty to copy a ship's records in the event of its abandonment. But Cody had not heard from General Kenobi for many minutes, and now Obi-Wan was not responding to his commlink.

When the transfer was complete, the clone pocketed the card, and signalled to his wingman to accompany him. Wherever Obi-Wan might be, it was now their turn to leave. There was no hesitation: it was not a clone's duty to question, or worry about the actions or motives of their superiors. A few minutes later the two clones boarded a shuttle and, with their usually relaxed efficiency, assumed their positions in the pilots' seats and initiated the launch sequence.

As the surface of the command ship started to fall way beneath them, Cody fingered his commlink uncertainly. No, it was not his duty to be concerned… and yet it was very unlike Obi-Wan to be silent at a moment like this. Usually the General was in touch with him every few minutes, wanting information, issuing orders...

Something was definitely wrong.

* * *

Eventually, Obi-Wan became aware that somewhere, distantly, the Force was whispering to him. He groaned, pressing his eyes more tightly shut, ignoring it.

But the whisper gradually grew louder, and louder.

It shouted to him, then it screamed to him.

Finally, he had to listen.

"General Kenobi! Sir, can you hear me?"

It was not the Force. It was Cody.

Then he heard the siren sound again. "All passengers proceed to your designated escape point. Eleven minutes remaining. Repeat. Eleven minutes remaining."

And then the Force spoke to him, insistently. _Fool. Weak, pathetic fool_. _Move. Get up. Now._

Slowly, Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

Obi-Wan was still numb, immovable, frozen. Weak. Impossibly weak. He felt half-dead already.

"General Kenobi. Please respond. This is cee-cee treble-two-four."

_A General. Not his Padawan now. Not this time. You have not struggled and fought and hated for so long to let weakness stop you…_

Obi-Wan shook his head, eyes still wet with tears, head still spinning with despair.

_You still have everything to lose, and everything to gain._

It was not only the Force speaking, but himself. It was the part of him that had survived countless horrors at the hands of his own Master, and had not given up. That part of him had sought his vengeance, and taken it with brutal force. It was the part of him that was pledged, forever to the Sith.

It was all of him.

Obi-Wan's hand reached to his belt. "Y-yes Cody?"

"Are you alright Sir?"

"Yes-fine." Still lying on the floor, Obi-Wan pressed his eyes tightly shut, trying to focus his swirling mind. "Is the evacuation complete?"

"Yes sir."

"G-good. I… Request retrieval from the nearest arm of the fleet."

"Already done sir."

"Right."

Silence. Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead, his arm feeling like lead.

The commlink buzzed again. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Are you set to rendezvous?"

"I… yes." Obi-Wan replied. "Await my order. Kenobi out."

With a shaking hand he shut off the commlink. Then, fighting dizziness and disorientation, he managed to sit up. He still felt incredibly weak, empty and fragile. But it was not the first time he had felt that way. So, wearily, and blindly, Obi-Wan gathered the comforting shrouds of evil around his heart once again. Then he stumbled to his feet, and he let the dark side seep back into his soul.

Slowly, the black energy penetrated his body.

Obi-Wan breathed it in and tasted it and felt it in his veins - that familiar, comfortable, unstoppable force, that had answered his prayers, stopped his nightmares and soothed his pain.

Then he remembered Anakin's words.

_This ends now._

As Obi-Wan stood there in the darkness, held up only by the evil power that had eaten away his humanity, he looked within himself and found…

Nothing.

So Anakin had been right. It _had_ been the end.

On that cold durasteel floor Obi-Wan had finally let go of Anakin Skywalker.

And he had let go of the man he himself had once been.

The darkness had taken away his pain again, leaving only the desire to inflict that pain on others.

Now, that seemed like a small price to pay.

Now, in the darkness, a Sith Lord smiled, and it was the cold-blooded smile of an Emperor set to teach his subjects the meaning of the word _terror_.

Obi-Wan savoured the word for only a moment, before the Force whispered its warning: less than a minute to escape the ship.

The, without looking back, he turned in the direction of the escape shuttle, and ran.

* * *

Dormé's hands tightened around the worn steering control of her starship as it lurched dangerously close to the side wall of the _Imperator_'s central void.

_Easy does it… come on…_ she muttered under her breath, fingers beginning to ache with tension. She leaned down to peer upwards out of window towards her destination, finally spotting the dark rectangle several levels above. Focusing there, she squinted, expecting any moment to see a flicker of red light.

But there was nothing.

Outside, she could hear the distant whining of the _Imperator_'s warning sirens. Given her state of mind it was probably fortunate she couldn't hear the automated voice that would tell her how many minutes were left before the entire ship was blown into oblivion.

Dormé frowned, feeling the perspiration beading on her forehead and starting to trickle down her temple. Three levels to go, and she was almost certainly running out of time. With a final surge of impatience, she pushed her foot down hard on the throttle, jolting the ship rapidly upwards. Then, as gently as she could, she nudged the steering control sideways, holding it steady with one hand whilst reaching out to flick a switch above her head with the other.

With a loud bang and a scrape of metal, the ship lunged sideways, straight into the wall she had spent the last ten minutes trying her hardest to avoid.

Dormé winced. So bang went her chance of arriving discreetly. But she hadn't seriously expected to surprise anyone. She was acting in desperation. Just attempting to fly a ship like this up inside the relatively small chamber at the centre of the ship was reckless, never mind what she was intending to do next. Attempting to leap though a broken window into the midst of a battle between two of the strongest Jedi the galaxy had ever known was virtual insanity. But then the nature and likelihood of success hadn't really entered into her reasoning.

Flicking on two more switches, one to return control of the ship to the onboard computer and one to instruct it to hold its current position, Dormé wiped a sweating hand on the side of her tunic, unhooked her blaster from her belt, and ran to the exit.

Cold air blasted her face as the hatch slid open. Dormé waited apprehensively. How many people would she see at the other side? Ideally two. The right two. At worst, three.

In the gloom, she could not make out anyone.

Dormé held her breath, and jumped.

She stumbled as she landed on the floor of the General's bedchamber, twisting and landing awkwardly on her side.

She expected any moment to hear the thrum of a lightsaber ignition, to see a red blade blister into life. But there was nothing.

Silence.

Darkness.

Then she felt something soft against her foot.

As her eyes adapted to the low lighting she made out two figures, lying together at her feet.

Fear mixed with dread, followed not long after by recognition, and then relief.

"Anakin!" She got to her feet awkwardly and stumbled forward to shake his shoulder. "Anakin!"

"Hmm…" Anakin stirred from his position, long limbs curled around Padmé's body, his face buried in her hair.

"Anakin, we must leave right now!"

"No. Master," he mumbled. "I told you. It's all over…"

"Anakin it's me! Dormé! Come on! We can still save Padmé, and ourselves!"

She fumbled for his hand, finding it cold and tightly clenching the fabric of Padmé's dress.

"Anakin!"

"D… Dormé?" Anakin lifted his head.

"Yes! Now get up! My ship…" she waved a hand to the window. "I need your help to lift her. She's still alive, isn't she?"

Anakin nodded silently, still looking a little bewildered.

"Good! Now come on! Quickly!"

The siren sounded again. "All passengers proceed to your designated escape point. Ten minutes remaining. Repeat. Ten minutes remaining."

Time had run out.

It took them less than twenty seconds to get Padmé back on to the ship, but to Dormé it felt like twenty minutes. As soon as the senator was laid out and safely secured on to the small fold-down medical stretcher, Dormé pushed Anakin through the door into the cockpit and down into the pilot's seat.

"We need to get out of here, and there's only one way," she said, dashing back and swiftly but carefully placing an oxygen mask to Padmé's face before sliding an emergency support drip into the back of the senator's tiny wrist and taping it securely in place.

As she stepped back into the cockpit it was to see, with great relief, that the fingers of Anakin's single remaining hand were travelling with lightning speed over switches and buttons. It would seem his instincts as a pilot had kicked in, and were for the moment overriding his confusion.

"Strap yourself in," he said through gritted teeth, flexing his fingers over the control as she sat down heavily in the co-pilot's seat.

The second her buckle clicked in place, Anakin pulled back on the controls and off they went.

Down.

Dormé's knuckles were white as she gripped the arms of the co-pilot's chair. Not from the motion – once the ship had dropped and rotated it only took a few seconds to reach maximum acceleration and the resulting force merely pushed her more firmly into the seat back behind her. No, it was not anything physical but rather anxiety that caused a sudden tension in both her fingers and the rest of her body.

Suddenly, she entertained the possibility that they might actually survive. Anakin was flying the ship to within an inch of its life, his ability as a pilot were well renowned, and if anyone could fly them past the reactor chamber and into open space it would be him…

But would they get clear in time? Tens of levels flashed by, the seemingly minisucle opening ahead growing larger with every second. How long did they have left? It was certainly less than the ten minutes Obi-Wan had spoken of…

The inscription on her lower back suddenly flared, making her cry out in pain_._

_Obi-Wan..._

She had thought… assumed…

Fighting against the vibrations of the ship, Dormé turned her head towards Anakin.

"He's still _alive?_"

Beside her Anakin grimaced, but did not reply.

The next second they shot past the sweltering white heat of the reactor chamber, and into the cold stillness of space.

* * *

Obi-Wan stood at the viewing window of the escape shuttle, brow furrowed in thought as he watched the triangular form of the Republic's flagship shrink steadily into the distance.

Behind him there was a sudden rustle of clothing. Taken off guard, he wheeled around, saber blade spearing crimson light into the grey room.

Harmoniously reflecting the light of his weapon, red-painted lips curved into a smile, a white hand tossing a matching red ringlet over her shoulder.

He'd forgotten about her.

And him.

"Abandoned your lover-boy?" Obi-Wan's question was accompanied by raised eyebrow.

"Bail died before we even reached the ship," the girl replied steadily, holding his gaze, pretty eyes conveying only the sliver of sorrow he sensed in her.

How old was she – eighteen? Nineteen? Yet he could feel it - her heart was nearly as black as his own. And she was clearly… willing. Obi-Wan chuckled. She would be a welcome distraction, when he had time for such indulgence.

Obi-Wan's expression grew serious as he turned back to the window, eyes flicking down to a display of blood-red digits on the panel at his side. Ten seconds. Then he lifted his eyes up to focuse towards the distant ship, reaching out into the Force, searching for something he knew he would find there.

He found them. Both of them. Two Force signatures, each distinctive, both uniquely imprinted with the dark side of the Force, both tainted and tangled in the dark web of the Sith.

Obi-Wan had no personal desire to feel them, anymore, either of them. As the shuttle had separated from the _Imperator's _hull he had finally separated himself from every last shred of the weakness and humanity that had persisted in cursing his soul. He barely remembered what had happened in that bedchamber, or in the corridor outside.

Such was the power of the dark side.

Now he merely needed to witness those two flames being extinguished, once and for all.

Obi-Wan reached out a gloved hand to press against the glass as the red digits of the display counted down.

Two seconds.

One.

Pause.

Silence.

Nothing.

Then with a blinding flash, the ship became the centre of an expanding sphere of pure white light. Instantly, Obi-Wan's grip on the two Force signatures was yanked from his reach, the whole shuttle shuddering and groaning with an invisible shock wave.

Cursing and rocking on his feet, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, pressing his hand harder to the glass and reaching out into the Force.

Nothing. They were gone. Dead.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he saw only the calm blackness of space, a smattering of stars and a faint sparkling cloud of fine debris.

From behind him came a light, feminine laugh.

"So, my Lord. Looks like it's just you and me."


	26. Chapter 25

A/N: This was meant to be the final chapter but I over-ran. The next chapter will actually be the final one.

* * *

"Are we going to make it? Do we have enough time?" Dormé's hand gripped the armrest of the co-pilot's seat. Dread twisted her stomach. Obi-Wan had told the clone troopers they would need ten minutes' flight to be clear of the detonation radius. But by the time Dormé's ship had shot free of the _Imperator_ it must have been less than five. Now it must be more like…

"Four minutes thirty-five seconds," Anakin's voice interrupted her thoughts. He indicated the tiny chrono attached to his wrist with a twist of his arm.

Dormé cursed. Anakin frowned, scanning the vast array of unlabelled switches, buttons and levers overhead. "Hyperdrive?"

"Erm-?"

"You have one. I noticed the external vents. Where?" Anakin's words were clipped with urgency.

Dormé's brain finally caught up. A leap into hyperspace would take them to safety in an instant. If only she could remember… she closed her eyes, trying to recall the brief tour of the ship the dealer had given her back on Tarrabba. But her mind was blank. She couldn't remember if he'd even _mentioned_ a hyperdrive…

"Three minutes fifty-five seconds."

Dormé opened her eyes to see Anakin reaching towards a switch far to his right.

"Ah!" _Now_ she remembered. "Yes. That's the one."

"Thanks," Anakin shot back with a sarcastic grimace, flicking the switch and pressing a rapid sequence of buttons on the keypad to his left. "Programming the-" he started, before stopping with a frown. "That's strange."

"What's the matter?"

"No navicomputer."

"It that a problem?"

Anakin tapped at more buttons. "Not necessarily. We'll have to rely on beacons. But this ship must be even older than I thought."

_Great_, Dormé thought. Force knew when the hyperdrive had last been used. What were the chances of it working now?

"Only one way to find out," Anakin muttered, glancing to the chrono again. "Three minutes forty. Ready?"

Dormé nodded the affirmative.

Anakin nodded back, then reached over to the hyperdrive throttle and pulled.

Below them the ship shuddered.

It creaked, then it groaned.

Anakin grimaced, glancing to the console. "Come on…"

The groan grew louder, then suddenly splintered into a roar.

That was it! The hyperdrive had fired! Relieved, Dormé let out the breath she had not been aware of holding.

The engines fell silent.

Dormé glanced back across to Anakin. He cursed, staring at the console display, his eyes following the rapidly scrolling sequences of diagnostics. He tapped a few buttons, then pulled the hyperdrive throttle again.

This time the groan of the engines barely increased in volume before it spluttered out. Silence.

Anakin watched the screen for a few moments, shaking his head. Then he put a hand to his face, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead.

"What's wrong?"

Anakin sighed, slumping back in his chair. "Power failure. The system can't produce enough power to reach critical energy density."

"Can you fix it?" Dormé frowned in concern as Anakin unbuckled his safety restraint and stood up.

"No." He spoke without looking at her, heading towards the doorway that led to the main room of the ship.

"Where are you going?"

"To be with my wife."

It was a few seconds before Dormé realised exactly what he meant. Stunned, she fumbled to unclasp her own belt and set off after him. "So that's it? After everything we have just been through you are just going to give up?"

Anakin was already at the opposite end of the room, leaning over Padmé's body. Dormé began to walk towards them.

"It's not a case of giving up," Anakin said, without turning around. "It's a case of finding peace. There's still a chance we might survive the blast. Or we might not. We no longer have the power to choose. It is the will of the Force. I'm sorry."

"But surely there must be something!"

Anakin ignored her. Dormé got the distinct impression he was hiding something. "Can't you shield us?"

"Jedi can shield minds, thoughts. Not people. Not ships."

"What about fixing the hyperdrive?"

Anakin sighed in irritation. "It's ancient Rakat technology. Force-enabled. Not even the engineers that built the ship fully understood it."

"But you are supposed to be the most powerful-"

"No." The curt reply cut her off. "Even if I…" he hesitated, seeming to regret having started the sentence.

"No. There is no acceptable solution."

Dormé had reached Anakin's back. Over his shoulder, she could see Padmé laid out on the stretcher – still serene, still beautiful, still incredibly frail. The senator's complexion was white, the skin stretched paper-thin over her delicate features. Dormé's eyes travelled lower. Was she still breathing?

"Is she-?" Dormé's voice softened with the dreaded question.

Anakin glanced back over his shoulder. "No… not yet. She's holding on. I must be with her now. Please." The expression in his voice had changed. Softened. Weakened. Gone was the efficiency and urgency of a few moments ago. Gone was the warrior. Suddenly, his words seemed to be loaded with the burden of every emotion he had ever experienced.

Dormé could feel that same tide of emotion in her own body. Her hands were shaking, and what she wanted to do more than anything was to curl up on the floor and pray to the Force that they would survive.

Except Dormé did not trust the will of the Force. She had faced death countless times today. Every time she had won. Anakin might have given up, but she would not do the same. Not quite yet. She turned back to the cockpit, determined to face whatever came next without fear.

After all, fear would mean Obi-Wan had won.

And she couldn't allow that. She would never allow that.

She took her place in the co-pilot's seat and buckled herself in. Swivelling the chair to face the viewport, she gazed out towards the sprinkling of distant star systems. Somewhere, out there, should have been their destination.

Perhaps it still could be.

Perhaps she would be able to work out a solution, if she could just focus, and _think_...

But time was running out. And if what came next was death, she would greet it without fear.

* * *

Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out for the delicate tendrils of Padmé's life force, willing himself to find her consciousness, to connect with her before she passed into the Force. He was desperate to find her, to show her his love, one last time.

She evaded him. He could feel it – she was too deeply unconscious, too close to death. He pressed his eyelids more closely shut. He would not give up. He had to try…

_Do or do not. There is no try. _

Master Yoda's voice sprung suddenly into his mind, clear, bright and melodious. It took Anakin's breath away.

Back on the _Imperator_, Anakin had sensed the execution of Order Sixty-six: the instruction for the clones to turn on their Jedi commanders. Anakin had known in advance what would happen; Obi-Wan had shared that knowledge with him just before they had parted on Tarrabba. Submerged in the dark side of the Force, it didn't concern him; the Jedi were traitors, Obi-Wan had told him so. But now he knew that had been just another lie, and _star's end_… how many of his friends had died? How many had been captured? Was the Jedi Grandmaster amongst them? Fresh grief and horror spiked in his chest.

What exactly had happened to him, onboard the _Imperator_? He knew something _- someone-_ had pulled him back to the light side of the Force. Why? To fulfil the prophecy? Up until now Anakin's thoughts had been so occupied with Padmé, he hadn't even considered the possibility that he might have a future.

_A future without her?_

Angrily, he pushed the thought away. Padmé was alive; that was more important than anything. Her life force was still there, he could feel it, still fighting, still surviving, after everything he had done to her.

If she died, he would have killed her.

The pain of that knowledge even eclipsed the pain of Obi-Wan's betrayal.

Anakin did not have enough energy to even _contemplate_ Obi-Wan's betrayal.

He cared only about Padmé. Now, if they could only survive the detonation of the _Imperator_, there was still a slim chance they could reach a medical facility in time to save her.

Not slim. Miniscule. Yet Anakin still clung to it.

_Your own weaknesses, you cling to. Brought you to this place, attachment did. Let go of it now, and freedom, you will find. _

Anakin sat up in shock when the voice spoke again. It was even cleared this time, as as if Master Yoda was standing behind him...

"Master…?"

Of course, there was no one there. Could Yoda have escaped the clones, and be broadcasting to him through the Force? It was a comforting thought, and yet the lesson the ancient Jedi Master seemed to preaching was not one he wanted to hear.

_A way, there is. Sense knowledge in you, I do. _

Anakin gritted his teeth. "No. I will not do that. I cannot- "

But the persistent voice continued, interrupting his protest.

_._

_Accept it, you must. Choose the right path, you must. _

_Out of evil, a new hope will be born._

_A light in the darkness. A future. A dream._

_Help that light grow, you can, if wise, you are._

Anakin tried to shut his mind against the voice, wishing he could stop it. No riddles. No prophesies. Not now. He would not put duty before his wife, not now. He turned back to Padmé, placing a careful kiss on her forehead, entwining her fingers with his own. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek against her chest, willing her to live, trying to recall memories of happy times, of their wedding day…

Relentlessly, around him and inside him, the voice continued.

_Your feelings, young one, consider with care._

_Remember your wife: noble, wise and fair._

_In your heart, find her. Listen, do not speak,_

_Open your mind, her wisdom you should seek._

_The future, in motion. Decide you must._

_Help you she can. In her love you can trust._

On Anakin's wrist, the chrono continued its countdown.

_One minute twenty-five seconds. _

* * *

Just over a minute later, in the cockpit, Dormé was trying to ignore the nerves shaking every part of her body. There was no solution. There was no prospect of escape; the ship was travelled away from the _Imperator_ as fast as its ancient engines would allow. And there was no change of rescue; the nearest star ships were all part of the military fleet. An emergency call for help would lead Obi-Wan directly to them.

There was no choice but to wait, and hope the ship could survive the blast.

So much for greeting her fate without fear. She'd never been more afraid in her life.

Suddenly, to her right, a flash of black shot into the cockpit. The flash, Dormé quickly realised, was Anakin.

Before she even had time to yell in surprise, he had flung himself into the pilot's seat, and slammed the starship control stick upwards, pulling the vessel in a tight loop. The centripetal force yanked Dormé's head abruptly back to bang against her headrest.

"Anakin," she grunted, fighting against the force trying to squash her into the seat, "what are you doing?"

"The unacceptable solution."

They shot out of the loop and barrel-rolled to the right.

When Dormé opened her eyes, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

"I…" She couldn't speak. Stricken with horror, her gaze remained fixed on the viewport. On the distant form of the _Imperator_.

They were heading straight towards it.

By her side, Anakin let go of the controls. "Brace yourself."

"Why? What-?"

Anakin shot her a glance. "Just hold on."

A heartbeat later, the command ship detonated in a blinding flash, the expanding sphere of light searing outwards at an incomprehensible speed.

No time to speak. Barely time to think. The light enveloped them.

Everything went black.

* * *

In a shuttle at the opposite side of the detonation, Obi-Wan watched the shimmering cloud of dust that had been the _Imperator_. He scanned the Force steadily, searching for Anakin's distinct Force signature. He had to be certain; Skywalker was far too dangerous to be left alive.

But if he had somehow managed to escape, it would not take Obi-Wan long to find him. The boy had always been like a beacon in the Force, whether one of sickening brightness or infinite light.

Now, there was nothing.

The Chosen One. The Hero with No Fear.

Both titles had been misplaced.

Anakin Skywalker was no more.


End file.
